A   L   B   A  N. 


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A 


L    B  A 

a  €\ik  nf  l^t  Mm  f0nrft. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "LADY  ALICE.' 


"  A  man  of  free  and  active  mind  will  remain  tranquil  in  the  peaceful  regions  of  trutli,  or  he  will  seek  it  with 
restlessness  and  disquietude.  If  he  find  only  false  principles  to  rest  on, — if  he  feel  the  ground  move  imder  hi» 
feet,  he  wUl  change  his  position  every  moment,  he  will  leap  from  error  to  error,  and  precipitate  himself  from 
one  abyss  to  another." 

Balmes. 

"  "We  cannot  make  this  world  a  paradise,  and  all  its  inhabitants  saints,  as  foolish  puritans  dream." 

Bbownson,  On  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law. 


NEW  YORK: 
GEORGE    P.    PUTN'AM,    155  BROADWAY. 
LONDON:   COLBUEN  &  CO. 


M  .  D  C  C  0  .  L  I. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 
GEORGE  P.  PUTXAM, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


STEREOTYPED  BY 

BILLIX  &  BROTHERS, 

10  NORTH  WILLIAM-STREET,  N.  T. 
J.  F.  TROW,  PRINTER,  ANN-STBEHT. 


A  WORD  ABOUT  "LADY  ALICE." 


The  author  of  the  above-mentioned  (too?)  celebrated  book 
had  no  reason  to  complain  either  of  the  public  for  not  reading  or 
of  the  critics  for  not  noticing  it,  few  novels  recently  published 
having  had  a  wider  circulation,  and  perhaps  none,  for  a  long 
time  having  received  so  much  notice  from  the  press.  And  not- 
withstanding the  extreme  severity  with  which  it  was  assailed,  he 
is  not  disposed  to  complain  of  injustice ;  the  criticism  was  often 
one-sided,  but  it  was  not,  generally  speaking,  unfair  in  spirit,  or 
unkind.  The  author  was  often  edified  and  oftener  amused  by  it: 
and,  upon  the  whole,  although  he  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
seen  some  of  the  positive  merits  of  his  literary  offspring  better 
appreciated,  for  otherwise  he  would  have  seemed  to  lack  the  natu- 
ral vanity  of  literary  paternity,  (and  any  thing  unnatural  is  mon- 
strous,) yet  he  could  not,  except  in  one  instance,  have  spared 
any  thing  that  was  actually  said.  He  has  always  meant,  how- 
ever, to  take  the  opportunity,  whenever  it  came,  of  saying  some- 
thing in  regard  to  the  morality  of  Lady  Alice,  to  the  disparage- 
ment of  which  so  much  has  been  said ;  and  particularly  as  he 
feels  a  sort  of  traditional  respect  for  one  ancient  Quarterly — the 
"grand-mamma"  of  American  periodicals — in  which  he  was  as- 
sailed on  this  score  with  such  unmitigated  virulence  that  it  seems 
as  much  a  duty  to  make  some  sort  of  reply,  as  it  does  for  one 
who  has  been  bespattered  with  mud  (I  was  going  to  use  a  stron- 
ger word)  from  any  quarter,  to  brush  his  clothes  before  presenting 
himself  again  in  decent  society.    Literary  people  (for  scarce  any 


vi  A    WORD    ABOUT    ''LADY  ALICE." 

other  will  have  seen  the  article)  will  understand  that  I  allude  to 
the  North  American  Review. 

There  is,  I  think,  a  limit  beyond  which  the  misrepresentation 
of  a  book  under  review  ought  not  to  go  in  a  respectable  periodi- 
cal. One  expects  that  a  hostile  critic  will  take  his  own  point  of 
view,  and  sometimes  even  force  a  meaning  on  his  author  which 
was  never  intended ;  that  he  will  make  sweeping  assertions  in 
regard  to  the  tone,  drift,  and  spirit  of  a  book,  quote  passages  with- 
out much  regard  to  their  context,  and,  in  short,  so  distort  the 
thing  that  the  author  would  hardly  know  his  own  work,  and  feel, 
like  Warren  Hastings  under  the  unjust  castigation  of  Burke,  that 
he  was  the  greatest  villain  in  existence.  But  assertions  which 
are  point-blank  falsehoods,  without  even  a  shadow  of  truth  to 
support  them,  are  a  stretch  of  the  reviewer's  prerogative,  and 
when  made  to  support  a  charge  of  studied  indecency  and  immo- 
rality against  a  clergyman,  as  the  author  was  then,  convert  a 
review  into  a  libel.  Out  of  a  dozen  examples  of  such  "  false  wit- 
ness," I  select  one  of  the  least  offensive,  uttered  (I  regret  to  say) 
with  the  avowed  purpose  of  showing  the  "  thoroughly  licentious 
character"  of  Lady  Alice.  "  Promiscuous  public  bathing  of  both 
sexes,"  says  the  reviewer,  "  is  represented  as  only  offensive  to  a 
taste  not  sufficiently  catholic ;  and  '  Clifford,  who  knew  the  cus- 
toms of  all  countries,  and  had  reasoned  on  all  with  the  calmness 
of  philosophy,  thought  not  the  worse  of  the  modesty'  of  the  Ital- 
ian women  for  their  attachment  to  this  custom."  Now  the  pro- 
miscuous public  bathing  of  both  sexes  is  a  custom  of  our  own 
surf-beaten,  tide-rolling  ocean  coast,  and  our  American  woraem, 
whether  they  are  attached  to  it  or  not,  certainly  practise  it  uni- 
versally, as  it  is  a  choice  between  that  and  not  bathing  at  all,  for 
a  woman  cannot  enter  the  surf  with  safety  alone.  At  Rockaway, 
and  I  presume  at  Nahant,  one  gentleman,  or  two,  is  what  most 
ladies  require.  But  this  is  not  the  case  on  the  coast  of  the  Medi- 
terranean ;  the  "  sandy  floor"  of  whose  scooped  and  retired  hol- 
lows "  a  tideless  sea  never  wets,"  to  quote  from  Lady  Alice. 
Here  the  most  decorous  separation  of  the  sexes  in  the  use  of  the 


A    WORD    ABOUT    "LADY    ALICE."  vii 

sea-bath  exists,  is  enforced  by  the  police,  and  is  carried  out  spon- 
taneously by  the  natural  decorum  of  a  southern  people,  who  are 
"very  scrupulous  in  respecting  any  spot  of  the  coast  that  they 
see  to  be  occupied  by  ladies,  or  females  of  any  rank,"  to  quote 
again.  In  short,  nothing  of  the  sort  is  said  or  described  or  allu- 
ded to  in  Lady  Alice,  and  the  peculiarity  for  which  "  Clifford 
thought  no  worse  of  the  modesty"  of  the  Italian  ladies,  was  sim- 
ply that  they  unmade  and  made  the  inevitable  toilet  on  these  oc- 
casions "  beneath  the  open  sky."  This  in  fact  is  what  princesses 
and  maidens  have  done  from  the  heroic  times  of  the  Odyssey, 
and  the  sacred  times  of  the  Bible,  on  all  the  shores  of  this  famous 
sea.  But  the  modern  Italian  women  use  bathing  dresses,  I  need 
scarcely  observe,  although  the  only  observation  to  which  they 
are  exposed  is  that  of  some  distant  passing  boat. 

If  Lady  Alice  had  not  been  a  girl  of  spirit,  a  genius,  an 
heiress,  and  above  all,  so  nobly  born,  (which  has  its  weight  even 
in  America,)  she  never  would  have  survived  all  this.  But  sur- 
vived it  she  has,  and  it  is  agreed  that  she  is  a  captivating  creature, 
whether  in  "  the  flowing  garments  of  modesty,"  as  the  author 
expresses  it,  or  in  the  "  dreamy  elegance"  of  a  "  basquined  waist- 
coat and  black  trowsers  of  oriental  amplitude."  From  the  in- 
nocent composure  with  which  she  receives  a  stranger's  kiss  "  on 
the  shore  of  Vietri,"  to  her  conscious  blush  in  the  last  hour  of 
maidenhood,  she  shows  a  courage  and  frankness,  which  are  not 
perhaps  inconsistent  with  her  piety  and  chastity,  but  which  render 
her  extvQm^j  piquaiite. 

And  then  Louise  Schonberg !  what  an  idea  to  represent  her 
as  clandestinely  married  to  Augustus  without  knowing  it — 
against  the  laws  of  England,  but  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of 
God;  breaking  off  the  connection  before  she  knows  what  its 
consequences  will  be,  refusing  to  legitimate  it,  because  its  con- 
sequences are  irreparable,  discovering  that  it  binds  her  for  ever 
just  as  she  is  about  to  commit  an  unconscious  bigamy,  escaping 
from  that  difficulty  by  the  most  improbable,  yet  probable  decep- 
tion, then  telling  all  this  to  her  maiden  friend ;  and  finally,  in 


viii 


A    WORD    ABOUT    "LADY  ALICe/' 


that  curious  and  much  blamed  scene  of  the  gondola,  seeking  her 
husband  to  impart  to  him  the  secret  of  the  validity  of  their 
union,  to  confess  the  folly  of  which  despair  has  made  her  guilty, 
and  to  implore  his  pardon  and  his  patience ;  ending  by  marrying 
him  again,  before  the  Church,  without  his  knowing  who  she  is  ! 
These  strange,  apparently  involved,  yet  really  simple  plots,  in 
which  every  step  is  linked  to  the  one  preceding  it,  amid  apparent 
recklessness  of  consistency,  and  the  remote  cause,  the  initiative 
of  the  mistakes,  and  the  flmlts,  traceable  up  to  a  progenitor's 
sin,  are  in  the  ancient  rather  than  in  the  modern  spirit,  we  confess. 

But  we  really  cannot  stop  to  explain  or  vindicate  "  Lady 
Alice."  If  it  deserves  explanation  or  vindication,  instead  of 
forgetfulness,  reproductive  criticism  has  arrived  at  such  a  pitch 
of  excellence  in  our  day,  that  no  doubt  justice  and  more  than 
justice  will  be  done  to  this  singular  story.  From  the  dull  false- 
hoods of  the  North  American  Review,  to  the  sparkling  raillery 
of  the  Lorgnette,  I  leave  therefore  the  critics  to  themselves,  till 
my  day  comes,  if  it  ever  comes,  for  appreciation  and  praise.  I 
cannot  blow  my  own  trumpet,  nor  find  "  understanding  as  well 
as  verses."  The  fimlts  of  Lady  Alice  lie  on  the  surface,  like 
scum  on  the  sea  ;  it  is  unnecessary  that  I  should  confess  them  to 
be  faults,  or  excuse  them  by  showing  that  there  is  a  pure  and 
deep  and  cleansing  w^ave  beneath.  Every  body,  whose  good 
opinion  is  worth  having,  sees,  or  may  see,  both. 

I  may,  however,  throw  out  one  idea,  as  not  having  a  merely 
retrospective  bearing.  The  passion  of  love  may  be  made  in- 
teresting, I  think,  without  those  conflicts  which  the  moderns  love 
to  paint,  and  which  suppose  a  degrading  anarchy  in  the  soul. 
Nothing  has  done  more  to  confuse  the  distinction  between  virtue 
and  vice  than  modern  English  sentimental  fiction,  particularly 
that  which  claims  to  be  moral,  if  not  religious ;  and  one  object 
which  I  have  had  in  view  in  my  former,  and  have  pursued  in 
my  present  work,  has  been  to  make  the  lines  sharp  and  distinct. 

New  York,  July  14,  1851. 


A  L  B  A  N 


BOOK  1. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  New  England  coast  is  Yery  much  indented  (as  is  well 
known)  with  fine  bays,  which  the  numerous  rivers  of  the  Eastern 
States  have  united  with  the  sweeping  tides  of  the  Atlantic  to 
scoop  out  in  the  generally  low,  but  stern  and  unalluvial  shores. 
These  bays  are  also,  for  the  most  part,  good  harbors — the  homes 
and  rendezvous  of  those  adventurous  whalemen  whose  hardy 
enterprise,  three  quarters  of  a  century  ago,  gained  the  magnificent 
eulogiums  of  Burke.  Yantic  Bay,  on  the  coast  of  Connecticut, 
particularly  answers  to  this  description.  It  is  the  mouth  of  a 
beautiful  river,  which,  rising  in  the  above-mentioned  State,  after 
a  certain  course  of  rapids  and  waterfalls,  unites  its  waters  with 
those  of  an  equal  tributary,  and  flows  navigably  for  about  thirteen 
miles  through  rich  embosoming  hills,  when  the  latter,  gaining 
both  elevation  and  severity  of  aspect,  expand  around  the  bay 
itself  in  a  wide  sweep  of  woodless  and  stone-fenced  heights, 
having  a  white  beach,  and  a  long,  low,  surf-beaten  point  of 
bleached  stones  and  shells  for  their  terminus.    At  the  sea  end  of 


10 


ALB AN . 


the  point,  stands  a  white  light-house  :  nearly  two  miles  higher  up, 
on  the  opposite  heights,  is  a  still  formidable  fort  ;  and  near  it, 
(at  the  present  writing,)  a  colossal  monument  of  some  j)assage  in 
the  war  of  the  Revolution,  of  which  that  foit  was  the  scene.  The 
bay  is  also  dotted  with  a  few  rocky  islets.  From  the  absence  of 
wood,  and  the  profusion  of  stone,  the  landscape,  if  bold,  is  rather 
severe  in  aspect,  but  at  the  in-flowing  of  the  river,  some  outjutting 
points,  covered  with  thick  groves,  promise  a  softer  inland. 

Just  out  of  the  shelter  of  the  groves  just  mentioiicd,  close  to 
the  water  side,  and  rising  rather  picturesquely  from  it,  is  situate 
the  ancient  town  of  Yanmouth.  The  Indian  name  of  the  river 
there  emptying,  was  thus  adjusted  by  the  early  settlers  with  an 
ending  of  their  mother  tongue  and  country,  with  a  felicity  rarely 
to  be  observed  in  the  geographical  nomenclature  of  the  New 
World.  We  call  Yanmouth  an  ancient  town,  but  that  is  as  cis- 
atlantic antiquity  goes  :  it  has  a  date  of  two  centuries.  It  had  not, 
indeed,  quite  so  much  in  the  year  1815,  in  which  our  story  opens. 
At  that  time  several  British  men-of-war  were  lying  in  Yantic 
Bay,  which  quite  recently  they  had  been  engaged  in  blockading. 
The  men  were  very  often  ashore  in  parties  on  leave,  which  broke 
the  quiet  of  the  town,  and  injured  its  morals,  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  this  disadvantage  was  compensated  by  the  visits  of  the 
ofiicers,  between  whom  and  the  little  aristocracy  of  Yanmouth 
an  agreeable  social  intercourse  had  succeeded  to  hostile  relations. 
There  is  an  aristocracy  in  every  society  however  limited  or  inarti- 
ficial, as  there  is  a  top  and  a  bottom  to  every  thing. 

It  was  on  a  Sunday — and  that  a  memorable  Sunday,  on 
which  the  fate  of  the  world  was  being  elsewhere  bloodily  decided  ; 
for  it  was  the  18th  of  June;  and  the  peculiar  calm  of  a  New 
England  "  Sabbath"  in  midsummer,  rested  on  those  iron  hills,  and 
wide,  bright  waters,  and  pervaded  the  rudely-paved  streets  of  the 
old-fashioned  rural  town,  half  country  village,  and  half  seaport. 
At  about  ten  o'clock,  a.  m.,  the  silence  was  broken,  but  the 
sentiment  of  repose  rather  heightened,  by  the  sound  of  the  church 
bells  answering  one  another  at  well-regulated  intervals.  There 


ALBAN, 


•11 


were  two  bells  only  in  Yanmouth  then  : — that  of  the  old  Congre- 
gational "Meeting-House"  where  the  mass  of  the  real  Yanmouth 
people,  especially  the  gentry,  still  served  the  God  of  their  fathers  ; 
and  that  of  the  less  pretending  edifice,  where  a  small  body  of 
Episcopalians  maintained  what  in  New  England  was  regarded 
as  a  novel  and  schismatical  worship.  Both  bells  were  fine 
toned,  though  they  were  different.  That  which  swung  in  the 
tall,  white  Congregational  steeple  had  been  captured  from  the 
Spaniards  by  a  Yanmouth  privateer,  a  half  century  before,  and 
was  both  high  and  musical.  That  which  answered  it  with  a 
graver  yet  mellow  accent,  from  the  square  bastard-gothic  turret 
of  the  Episcopals,  was  the  gift  of  the  Society  for  the  Propagation 
of  the  Gospel. 

Even  in  advance  of  the  hour  for  meeting,  or  church,  (as  it 
would  be  variously  termed  according  to  the  afRnities  of  the 
speaker,)  three  boats  had  put  out  from  the  British  frigates,  and 
pulled  up  the  bay  to  the  landing.  Two  were  captain's  gigs,  out 
of  which  got  a  half-dozen  officers,  who  paired  oft",  and  sauntered 
in  the  direction  of  the  Episcopal  church.  The  other  two  con- 
tained, besides  their  crews,  about  a  dozen  "  young  gentlemen," 
whose  course  after  landing  was  various.  A  few,  and  those  the 
more  unfashioned  in  face,  shape,  mien,  or  dress,  followed  their 
seniors  ;  but  a  set  of  neatly-equipped,  rather  good-looking  young- 
sters, after  some  delay  and  mutual  consultation,  set  their  cox- 
combical faces  in  the  direction  of  the  meeting-house.  The  streets 
of  Yanmouth  ran  partly  parallel  with  the  water  side,  partly  at 
right  angles  with,  and  ascending  steeply  from,  it.  They  were 
wide,  and  lined  with  large,  handsome,  old-fashioned,  white  houses, 
chiefly  of  wood.  Some  were  long  and  low  ;  some  had  "  piazzas" 
[anglice  verandas)  in  front.  Here  and  there  a  high,  narrow,  red 
store,  with  gable  to  the  street,  its  heavy  block  and  hoisting  tackle 
swinging  from  under  a  projecting  peak,  added  to  the  picturesque 
variety.  Before  the  principal  houses  stood  old  trees — vast  and 
spreading  elms,  white-armed  button-balls,  or  gigantic  Aveeping- 
willows.    All  was  now  silently  stirring,  and  quiet] y  alive  with 


ALB AN . 


men  and  boys  in  bright  blue  coats  and  nankeens,  and  the  gracious 
wearers  of  histrous  silk  brocade  or  snowy  muslin. 

Yanmouth  meeting-house  stood  about  half  way  up  one  of 
the  rising  streets  of  the  town,  being  built  (to  use  the  local  phrase) 
on  a  "side  hill,"  in  a  situation,  therefore,  of  great  conspicuity. 
It  was  built  of  wood,  and  painted  white,  like  all  New  England 
meeting-houses  of  the  time,  and  was  adorned  with  the  usual 
double  row  of  green-blinded  windows  down  its  sides  ;  yet  being 
of  very  ample  dimensions,  and  even  grand  in  proportions,  with  a 
bell-tower  and  spire  of  gradually  lessening  galleries,  enriched  with 
elaborate  balustrades,  it  stood  out  against  the  blue  sky  a  very 
imposing  and  almost  beautiful  object.  It  had  a  small  church- 
yard— a  green  square,  two  sides  of  which  were  occupied  by  the 
"meeting-house  shed,"  destined  for  the  shelter  of  the  equipages 
of  such  of  the  congregation  as  might  come  from  a  distance  to 
worship.  Hence  the  other  two  sides  were  open  to  the  street,  and 
the  trampled  turf  contained,  of  course,  no  graves.  The  burying- 
ground  is  usually  quite  separate  from  the  church,  in  a  New 
England  village. 

The  worshippers  from  the  town  flocked  in,  slow  but  unloitering, 
exchanging  few  greetings.  The  long  gray  shed  also  filled  up  with 
horses,  gigs,  and  wagons.  Their  male  owners  seemed  to  regard  it 
as  a  privilege  to  stand  about  the  doors  or  under  the  eaves  of  the 
meeting-house  so  long  as  the  bell  continued  to  toll,  but  yet  without 
profaning  the  sanctity  of  the  Sabbath  by  entering  hito  conversation. 
At  length  the  bell  ceased,  and  these  lingerers  also  entered  ;  the 
noise  of  their  feet  mounting  the  gallery  stairs  was  soon  over,  (there 
was  no  organ,  of  course,  to  pour  out  its  volumes  of  unspiritual 
sound,)  and  a  profound  silence  filled  the  sanctuary.  The  body  of 
the  house  was  divided  into  great  square  pews,  so  that  one  half  the 
congregation  sat  facing  the  other  half.  In  modern  New  England 
churches  the  seats  all  look  towards  the  minister,  and  this  seems,  at 
first  sight,  the  most  sensible  arrangement ;  but,  in  reality,  the  old 
one  was  more  in  accordance  with  true  New  England  principles.  In 
the  new  places  of  worship  there  is  none  of  that  solemnity  which 


ALB AN , 


13 


used  to  be  felt  from  the  consciousness  of  each  individual  that  he 
was  under  the  grave  and  unavoidable  observation  of  all  his 
brethren.  The  downcast  looks  and  formal  composure  of  the 
females  that  marked  the  old  congregations  have  disappeared. 
Ease  has  succeeded  to  awe.  But  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  the 
genuine  idea  of  Congregationalism  is  violated.  The  centre  of  ac- 
tion and  interest  is  shifted  from  the  assembly  itself  to  its  minister  ; 
and  the  nature  of  the  action  is  also  changed  ;  a  solemn,  if  severe, 
synaxis  has  degenerated  into  a  lecture  ;  a  church  watching  over 
itself  has  sunk  to  an  audience. 

The  young  officers  of  Her  Majesty's  ship  of  the  line  Avenger 
and  frigate  Tonnerre  (captured  at  Trafalgar)  liked  the  old  square 
pews  for  the  view  they  afforded  of  many  a  lovely  New  England 
countenance.  Truly,  the  summer  light,  softened  by  its  passage 
betwdxt  the  numerous  green  slats  of  the  Venetian  blinds,  fell  on 
more  than  one  face  of  exquisite  beauty,  of  a  bloom  as  delicate  as 
Britain  could  boast,  and  features  of  more  classic  precision  than  her 
humid  atmosphere  permits,  at  least  without  a  certain  hot-house 
culture.  In  many  instances  this  physical  beauty  was  united  with 
that  air  of  saint-like  purity  and  heavenly  peace  which  is  often 
ascribed  to  nuns,  but  which  is,  or  was,  very  common  among  New 
England  Congregationalists  ;  proceeding  in  both  cases,  doubtless, 
from  the  same  causes,  habitual  self-control,  and  the  frequent  con- 
templation of  Divine  things. 

As  a  general  thing  it  may  be  doubted  whether  this  spiritual 
style  of  female  loveliness  attracted  the  regards  of  our  naval  friends 
so  much  as  that  which  was  more  mundane.  Their  admiring 
glances  were  bestowed,  however,  with  great  impartiality  ;  the 
young  Yanmouth  ladies  were  doubtless,  in  most  instances,  ac- 
quaintance, at  the  very  least ;  in  some  cases,  a  tenderer,  though 
temporary  interest,  might  be  almost  acknowledged  ;  and  it  seemed 
that  only  the  successive  contemplation  of  all  the  fair  faces  present 
could  satisfy  that  hunger  of  the  sailor's  eye  after  a  long  cruise,  for 
the  soft  peculiarities  of  feature  and  expression  proper  to  the  other 
sex.  We  have  not  come  to  Yanmouth  church,  however,  to  observe 


14 


ALBAN. 


and  describe  these  profane  distractions,  which  have  forced  them- 
selves, we  must  say,  unpleasantly,  upon  our  attention.  Our  own 
business  here  is  iutinitely  more  serious. 

In  a  large  wall  pew,  which  shares  with  one  other  in  the 
church  the  distinction  of  red  cloth  lining  and  brass  nails,  is  a  fam- 
ily that  claims  particular  notice.  The  master  sits  in  his  proper 
place,  (that  is  the  corner  seat  next  the  side  aisle,  and  command- 
ing the  pulpit,)  a  man  rather  below  the  middle  height,  slight, 
erect,  yet  evidently,  from  his  thin  silver  locks,  of  venerable  yeare. 
The  head  is  characteristically  New  Englandish  ;  small,  rather 
square  than  oval ;  nose  Grecian,  with  refined  nostril,  and  com- 
pressed mouth  ;  eyes  not  large,  but  well  set  and  piercing.  The 
lower  part  of  this  face  was  charged  with  a  florid  color  which 
proved  that  seventy  winters  had  not  exhausted  a  rich  and  abun- 
dant vitality  ;  but  the  wide,  serene,  scarcely-wrinkled  brow,  was 
as  silvery  in  tone  as  faultless  in  mould.  Ideality,  causality,  be- 
nevolence, veneration,  conscientiousness,  firmness,  all  well  de- 
veloped I  It  is  easy  to  see  what  character  this  man  will  have 
displayed.  He  has  been  the  kind  father,  the  admirable  citizen, 
the  patriot,  finally,  the  saint. 

His  vis-a-vis  oflers  a  striking  contrast.  It  is  a  man  in  the 
prime  of  life,  tall,  large  framed,  but  well  knit.  He  is  dressed  in 
the  fashion  of  the  time  and  season,  a  blue  coat,  with  white  neck- 
cloth, waiscoat,  and  trowsers,  of  an  immaculate  purity  ;  his  large 
shirt  ruffles  are  elaborately  plaited  ; — then  the  ordinary  mark  of 
a  gentleman.  From  this  snowy  J ust-au-corps,  so  fresh  and  clean, 
emerges  a  grand,  handsome  head,  oval  and  brilliant.  It  would  be 
too  vital  were  it  not  that  rhe  massive,  clean,  white  forehead  is 
prematurely  bald  ;  the  activity  of  the  cerebrum  has  left  little 
more  than  half  of  the  dark  brown  locks  that  once  shaded  its  su- 
perb temple. 

The  interior  corners  of  the  pews  were  occupied  by  two  females, 
the  elder  of  whom  could  not  have  passed  thirty.  She  was  short, 
slight,  and  ]iale.  She  wore  what  was  then  distingue,  a  white 
shawl,  of  Chinese  silk,  over  her  high,  lace-rufied,  short-waisted, 


ALBAN. 


15 


black  silk  dress,  and  a  Leghorn  bonnet  and  lace  veil,  that  seemed 
modish,  and  even  imposing,  in  Yanmouth  meeting-house.  Her 
features  were  good,  but  irregular  ;  the  mouth,  in  particular,  was 
deficient  in  symmetry,  yet  was  its  expression  sweet ;  one  eyebrow 
was  markedly  higher  than  the  other,  but  the  eyes  were  finely  cut 
and  of  the  softest  blue  ;  the  nose  was  a  little  high,  yet  beautifully 
formed.  She  had  the  saint-like  expression  of  which  we  have  be- 
fore spoken.    It  was,  indeed,  a  very  interesting  face. 

Her  companion  was  like  her,  but  the  likeness  was  a  family 
one  ;  the  mould  was  the  same,  but  the  casting  had  been  more 
fortunate.  In  short,  the  face  of  the  younger  lady  was  as  nearly 
perfect  as  possible  ;  but  its  expression  was  tinctured  with  a  faint 
haughtiness,  not  unusual  in  features  of  extreme  regularity.  Be- 
tween these  fair  and  gracious  personages  sat  a  neatly-attired 
black  girl — black  as  the  ace  of  spades  ; — around  her  curly  head 
was  gracefully  wound  a  bright  parti-colored  cotton  •  handkerchief. 
In  her  arms  she  sustained  a  burden  of  flowing  muslin  petticoats, 
and  long  lace  robes,  from  which  emerged  the  small,  fair,  slumber- 
ing features  of  an  infant — a  sleep-bound  monthling.  These  were 
indications,  appreciated,  doubtless,  by  all  the  congregation,  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Samuel  Athferton  were  intending  that  morning  to 
"dedicate"  their  first-born  son  to  God  "in  the  ordinance  of  bap- 
tism." 

The  aged  minister  entered  the  assembly,  walked  with  slow 
dignity  up  the  middle  aisle,  and  more  slowly,  yet  with  greater 
dignity,  ascended  the  pulpit  stairs.  He  was  an  old-fashioned  par- 
son of  the  "  standing  order."  His  somewhat  shrunk  legs  were  in- 
vested in  black  small-clothes  and  stockings,  and  he  wore  great  sil- 
ver shoe-buckles.  His  hair  was  long,  flowing  on  his  shoulders,  and 
white  as  snow.  After  some  moments  of  silent  preparation  in  the 
deep  interior  of  the  wine-glass  pulpit,  moments  during  which  the 
congregation  became  gradually  hushed  as  the  grave,  this  venerable 
man  arose  ;  all  arose  with  him  ;  and  lifting  up  his  hands,  he  com- 
menced his  prayer. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  report  it.    It  was  a  good  prayer,  brief 


16 


A  L  B  A  N  . 


and  pointed,  in  the  nature  of  an  introduction  to  the  exercises  about 
to  follow.  The  good  pastor  had  used  nearly  the  same  every  Sun- 
day morning,  for  more  than  half  a  century  that  he  had  exercised 
the  pastoral  office  over  the  church  in  Yanmouth.  A  hymn  was 
then  sung,  about  dedicating  little  children,  like  Samuel,  to  God. 
Then  the  pastor  read  the  passage  of  the  New  Testament  where 
the  Lord  commissions  his  Apostles  to  go  forth  and  baptize  all  na- 
tions. Then  followed  a  much  longer  prayer,  very  discursive,  very 
theological — like  an  abstract  of  the  Westminster  Confession,  united 
to  an  exposition  of  the  Book  of  Revelations.  Towards  the  close 
of  it,  however,  the  speaker  narrowed  down  his  theme  to  the  present 
time,  and  spoke  of  the  family  whose  youngest  "  hope"  was  to  be 
offered  for  admission  into  the  visible  church.  He  declared  that 
this  unconscious  babe,  on  whom  so  much  of  the  interest  of  the  pres- 
ent occasion  was  concentred,  was  the  descendant  of  a  long  line  of 
eminently  pious  and  now  mostly  sainted  ancestors,  whose  graces 
he  prayed  that  the  babe  might  inherit,  as  well  as  their  name. 
He  alluded  particularly  to  one  living  and  present,  a  venerable 
servant  of  G-od,  the  grandsire,  as  it  seemed,  of  the  babe,  now  wait- 
ing for  the  call  of  his  Master,  ready  like  Elijah  for  translation, 
whose  mantle,  he  asked  might  fall  on  this  infant  descendant. 
Finally,  he  expressed  great  confidence  in  the  real  election  of  the 
yet  unconscious  candidate  for  the  baptismal  sprinkling,  on  the 
ground  that  a  child  of  so  many  prayers  as  had  gone  before  his  very 
birth,  and  would  ever  follow  him  through  life,  must  have  been  pre- 
destinated from  all  eternity  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  celestial  man- 
sions, it  being,  as  he  said,  the  well-known  method  of  the  Omniscient 
and  Sovereign  Dispenser  of  all  good  to  stir  up  his  people  to  ask 
with  fervor  those  blessings  which  he  had  in  each  instance  eternally 
predetermined  to  bestow.  With  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  the 
young  English  officers,  a  look  of  pleased  internal  acquiescence  was 
visible  on  all  the  countenances  of  the  congregation  as  the  prayer 
concluded. 

"  The  child,"  said  the  minister,  still  erect  in  the  lofty  pulpit, 
*'  may  now  be  presented  by  the  parents  for  baptism." 


ALBAN. 


17 


"  Who  are  the  godfather  and  godmother  ?"  whispered  a  mid- 
shipman to  a  staring  Yanmouth  youth  in  the  next  pew. 

"  Them  are  the  parents,"  was  the  reply,  accompanied  with 
an  expression  of  pity  ;  "  we  don't  have  nothing  of  that  kind  you 
said." 

The  ceremony  of  baptism  is  not  necessarily  deprived  of  its 
solemnity  by  the  simple  manner  of  performing  it  customary  among 
the  New  England  people.  On  the  contrary,  the  mere  act  of 
baptism,  left  entirely  to  itself,  with  no  benedictions  of  the  Avater, 
no  promises  and  renunciations  of  sponsors,  no  signing  with  the  cross, 
not  to  say,  without  the  numerous  rites  used  in  the  Catholic 
church — the  salt,  the  spittle,  the  insufflations,  the  exorcisms,  the 
unction,  the  lighted  candle,  the  white  robe — is  perhaps  even  the 
more  impressive.  The  minister  exhorted  the  parents  to  bring  up 
their  child  in  the  nurture  and  admonition  of  the  Lord.  The  nature 
of  the  present  transaction  he  described,  indeed,  as  a  mere  oblation 
of  the  child  to  God  ;  but  he  assured  them,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
God  had  promised  to  be  a  Father  to  the  children  of  His  saints,  and 
that  the  offspring  of  believers  were  the  most  likely  subjects  of  dis- 
criminating grace,  a  consummation  to  which  their  efforts  and 
prayers  ought  constantly  to  tend.  The  father  held  the  babe  at  the 
font ;  the  white-haired  old  minister  dipped  the  tips  of  his  trembling 
fingers,  sprinkled  a  few  drops  of  water  on  the  face  of  the  infant, 
not  even  waking  it  from  its  deep  and  awful  slumber,  and  said  : 

"  Alban,  I  baptize  thee  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the 
Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  Amen." 

2» 


18 


ALB AN . 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  British  tars  sauntered  along  the  quiet  streets,  rolHng  on 
their  hips,  and  squaring  their  elbows  like  yard-arms.  There  were 
no  grog-shops  open  in  Yanmouth  on  the  Sabhath  day,  and  though 
immoralities  ol"  another  kind  were  far  from  being  unknown,  there 
was  yet  no  absolute  rendezvous  in  this  comparatively  innocent  sea- 
port, where  the  distraction  of  equivocal  female  society  could  be 
obtained.  The  selectmen  exercised  too  strict  a  vigilance.  So, 
finally,  a  little  knot  of  the  blue-jackets,  enmiyc  with  promenading 
without  a  purpose,  sat  down  upon  the  stone  door-step  of  a  store, 
and  one  of  them  pulling  out  of  his  pocket  a  pack  of  dirty  cards, 
they  fell  to  amusing  themselves  with  a  game  that  is  a  prime 
favorite  with  sailors. 

Cards  are  dull  without  a  stake  ;  so  the  next  thing  some  of  His 
Majesty's  silver  pictures  were  produced,  and  the  shillings  and  half- 
crowns  changed  hands  rapidly.  Unfortunately  the  position  of  the 
gamesters  was  commanded  from  the  windows  of  the  meeting-house 
gallery.  They  were  quiet  at  first,  as  they  had  been  strictly 
enjoined  to  be,  and  spoke  in  under  tones,  for  the  hush  of  the  town 
awed  them  ;  but  forgetting  themselves  by  degrees,  particularly  the 
lookers-on  of  the  game,  they  gave  way  to  occasional  laughter,  with 
loud  talking,  to  whicli  now  and  then  a  ripping  oath  added  its  pecu- 
liar energy.  In  the  deep  pause  between  the  giving  out  of  the  last 
hymn,  and  the  preparatory mi  sol  of  tlie  volunteer  choir,  the 
noise  of  a  laugh  came  faintly  in  at  the  open  windows  and  caught 
the  ear  of  Deacon  Jabez  Flint,  a  zealous  upholder  of  the  ancient 
laws,  and  one  of  the  selectmen  of  Yanmouth.  To  seize  his  hat — a 
broad-brim — and  staff  (it  was  silver-headed)  and  go  forth  to  ascer- 
tain the  cause  of  these  profane  sounds,  was  in  fact  the  duty  of 
Deacon  Flint ;  and  his  investigations  soon  brought  to  light  the 
enormities  that  were  in  the  act  of  commission  : — card-playing, 


ALBAN . 


19 


gambling,  swearing,  and  unseemly  merriment  on  the  Sabbath  in 
the  open  streets  of  Yanmouth,  in  meeting-time,  with  consequent 
disturbance  of  public  worship,  added  to  the  profanation  of  the 
Lord's  day,  each  in  itself  a  circumstance  involving  a  separate  vio- 
lation of  the  by-laws  of  the  town,  and  constituting  all  together  a 
complex  offence  of  no  ordinary  magnitude.  What  did  it  matter 
that  the  offenders  were  foreigners  ?  In  the  command  to  sanctify 
the  Sabbath  was  there  not  a  special  clause  including  "  the  stranger 
that  is  within  thy  gates  ?"  So  reasoned  Deacon  Flint,  who  had 
"  set  his  face  as  a  flint"  against  such  doings  ;  and  he  took  his 
measures  accordingly  ;  the  consequence  whereof  was,  to  be  brief, 
that  by  the  time  meeting  was  out,  four  seamen  of  His  Majesty's 
frigate  Tonnerre  had  been  arrested  by  a  constabulary  force  of  eight 
fanatical  Puritans,  under  the  guidance  and  authority  of  Deacon 
Flint,  in  his  broad-brimmed  hat  and  silver-headed  round  cane,  and 
lodged  forthwith  in  the  county  jail. 

From  insignificant  causes  arise,  oftentimes,  the  wars  of  mighty 
nations.  The  arrest  of  a  few  sailors  for  violating  the  municipal 
laws  of  a  New  England  town  was  a  matter  of  no  great  import 
in  itself;  but  construed  as  an  insult  to  the  British  flag,  under 
which  those  sailors  and  their  officers  had  landed, — a  less  thing 
might  suffice  to  dissolve  the  peaceful  relations  then  newly  re-es- 
tablished between  the  two  countries.  Thus  the  zeal  of  Deacon 
Fhnt,  approved  by  some,  was  deemed  injudicious  by  others.  The 
British  officers  were  indignant,  and  some  of  the  juniors  proposed 
to  storm  the  jail  and  effect  a  rescue.  This  counsel  was  indeed 
promptly  rejected  by  their  superiors  in  the  informal  consultation 
which  took  place  at  the  moment,  as  both  unwarrantable,  and 
certain  of  defeat  from  the  well-known  spirit  of  the  people.  Some 
of  the  middies  said  that  the  commodore  would  bombard  the  town 
if  the  prisoners  were  not  instantly  surrendered  ;  but  it  was  an 
obvious  answer  to  this  prediction,  that  the  British  ships  themselves 
lay  directly  under  the  guns  of  Fort  Yantic. 

While  the  people,  collected  in  groups,  in  spite  of  Sunday,  dis- 
cussed the  affair  with  the  phlegm  peculiar  to  New  Englanders, 


20 


ALB AN . 


and  the  knot  of  cockpit  officers  at  the  boat  wharf  were  holding  a 
somewhat  excited,  if  not  angry,  colloquy  on  the  subject,  the 
captain  of  the  Tounerre  himself  consulted  apart  witli  his  first 
lieutenant,  in  the  veranda  of  an  inn  that  fronted  the  landing. 

"Best  to  treat  it  good-naturedly,  as  an  instance  of  respectable 
zeal,  but  ludicrous  in  our  eyes,"  said  the  senior  officer. 

"  1  call  such  an  instance  of  zeal,  confounded  impudence,"  re- 
plied the  lieutenant,  with  dehberate  emphasis. 

**  No  doubt,  Harvey,  no  doubt ;  but  the  object  at  present  is,  to 
get  the  matter  over  amicably,  without  seeming  to  pocket  an 
insult.    The  men  must  be  released  though,  to-night." 

"  This  Deacon  Flint,  they  say,  is  as  obstinate  as  a  mule  ;" 
observed  the  lieutenant. 

"  I  think  I  have  hit  upon  a  way  of  managing  him,"  said  his 
superior,  looking  at  the  subaltern.  The  lieutenant  in  turn  regarded 
his  captain  with  an  air  of  inquiry. 

"  General  Atherton  has  unbounded  influence,"  pursued  the 
latter.    "  The  people  here  regard  him  as  little  less  than  a  saint." 

"  duite  so,"  assented  the  lieutenant,  slightly  flushing. 

"  Deacon  Flint  would  follow  his  advice  implicitly,  no  doubt, 
especially  iu  a  case  like  this,  which,  in  fact,  is  a  question  of  reli- 
gion," said  the  captain,  gravely.  "  You  know  the  family,  Harvey  ; 
you  must  see  the  old  gentleman.  He  is  a  gentleman,  every  inch 
of  him,  and  a  soldier  ; — he  would  enter  into  my  feelings, — into 
the  feelings  of  a  commanding  officer," 

"  General  Atherton  is  very  rigid  in  his  ideas  about  Sunday — 
the  Sabbath,  as  he  would  call  it,"  said  Harvey,  hesitatingly, 

"Pooh  !  pooh  !" 

"  I  mean,  he  might  object  to  one's  calling  on -him  to-day,  on 
such  an  afiair  ;"  persisted  the  junior. 

"  Nonsense.  You  will  have  the  goodness  to  go  up  to  General 
Atherton's  immediately,  Mr.  Harvey,  and  make  such  a  represen- 
tation of  the  case  as  will  procure  his  interference  to  liberate  the 
men  at  once,"  said  his  commander  moving  off.  "  I  am  going  to 
the  ship  ;  you  won't  come  aboard  without  them,  of  course  I" 


ALBAN, 


21 


CHAPTER  III. 

By  this  time  the  bells  had  begun  to  ring  for  afternoon  meeting  ; 
for,  as  many  of  the  congregation  always  come  from  far,  it  is  the 
custom  of  New  England  to  allow  but  a  brief  intermission  be- 
tween morning  and  afternoon  service,  seldom  exceeding  an  hour. 
Lieutenant  Harvey  did  not  proceed  on  his  errand  till  after  the 
evening  service  therefore,  which,  for  some  reason,  he  attended 
at  church,  and  though  he  had  often  heard  the  beautiful  prayers 
hastily  read  before  an  impending  action  or  gathering  storm, 
when  Sunday  happened  to  precede,  he  had  perhaps  never  more 
heartily  prayed  to  be  "  defended  from  the  fear  of  our  enemies,"  or 
from  all  perils  and  dangers  of  this  night,"  than  when  he  was 
simply  going  to  ask  a  favor  of  a  particularly  quiet  New  England 
country-gentleman. 

But  service  was  over — it  was  longer  than  meeting  by  at  least 
a  quarter  of  an  hour — and  the  brave  lieutenant's  way  led  him 
into  the  broad  ascending  street  on  which  the  meetiiig-house  stood. 
It  was  lined  with  great  trees  and  paved  with  rubble  stones, 
from  which  the  rapid  descent  of  waters  in  every  rain  had  long 
since  swept  away  the  lighter  portions  of  the  soil.  Here  and 
there  native  rock,  smooth  and  flat,  appeared  above  the  surface. 
At  the  top  of  this  street  ran  another  at  right  angles,  and  beyond, 
the  hill  extended  in  an  open  green  terminating  in  a  white  court- 
house, flanked  by  a  stone  jail — a  square,  solid  building  with  grated 
windows,  from  one  of  which  the  English  officer's  blood  boiled  to 
see  the  grim  faces  of  his  men  peering  out  in  durance  vile. 

This  was  the  end  of  the  town  in  that  direction.    Behind  the 
court-house  and  jail  were  seen  only  stone-fenced  hills  and  the" 
sky.    But  on  the  right  of  the  court-house  green,  in  the  midst  of 
lolly  and  considerable  grounds,  stood  a  large  white  mansion  of 
brick,  having  a  many-sloped  black  roof  without  gables,  of  which 


22 


ALBAN. 


the  eaves  projecting  like  a  veranda,  and  supported  by  massive 
and  square  brick  columns,  formed  a  huge  piazza  quite  round  the 
house.  The  white  front  wall  of  the  grounds  flanked  the  green, 
and  was  of  brick,  stone-coped,  and  broken  by  quaint  brick  pillars, 
like  those  of  the  piazza.  There  were  two  gates,  a  larger  one  at 
the  lowest  point  of  the  hill  for  carriages,  and  a  smaller  one,  but 
more  enriched,  latticed,  and  flanked  by  pillars,  above,  which  served 
for  pedestrians,  or  even  for  visitors  in  carriages,  if  they  did  not 
mind  walking  a  hundred  yards,  or  thereabouts,  to  the  house. 
Lieutenant  Harvey  directed  his  steps  to  this  entrance,  and  entered 
by  it  without  using  the  brass  knocker.  "Within  was  a  small  lawn, 
planted  with  shrubbery,  and  a  flagged  pathway  led  from  the  gate 
to  a  flight  of  half  a-dozen  stone  steps,  which  brought  the  officer  to 
the  level  of  a  green  and  shrubberied  terrace,  with  a  continuation 
of  the  pathway  leading  to  another  flight  and  another  terrace, 
whereon  stood  the  house,  the  great  brick  pillars  of  the  piazza 
having  their  quaint  lofty  bases  rooted  in  the  turf  Those  of  the 
front  were  wreathed  with  honeysuckles.  Roses  bloomed  between 
them,  and  beneath  the  open  windows.  There  was  a  path  under 
the  piazza,  and  on  one  side  was  a  garden  rising  in  terraces  and 
skirted  mth  fruit-trees  ;  on  the  other,  the  hill  descended  in  a  green 
slope  to  the  carriage-road,  and  the  view  was  open  over  the  town, 
to  the  bay,  the  wooded  mouth  of  the  Yantic,  and  the  gray  heights 
beyond,  with  their  fences  of  stone  and  guardian  forts. 

Lieutenant  Harvey  raised  the  bright  brass  knocker  of  the 
double-valved  green  door.  An  old  negro  in  a  white  coat  an- 
swered the  summons.  His  wrinkled  black  face  evinced  great 
surprise  at  the  visitor. 

"  What,  Massa  Harvey  I  you  come  to  de  Cassle  a-courtin'  on 
de  Sabbat'  day  I  Sir  I  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Sam'l  Ath'ton,  the 
general  no  'prove  it." 

"  I  have  not  come  to  the  '  Castle'  to-day  a-courting,  Sam.  I 
wish  to  see  General  Atherton  himself  on  particular  business." 

"  The  gen'ral  never  tend  to  biz'ness  on  de  Sabbat',"  said  the 
negro,  letting  in  the  visitor  with  evident  reluctance.    "  My  good- 


ALBAN. 


23 


ness,  Massa  Harvey  !  de  Cassle  de  las'  place  you  ought  to  come 
to,  to  do  biz'ness  on  de  Sabbat'  day  afore  sun-down.  You  lose 
your  crak'ter  in  dis  house  entirely." 

The  vestibule  into  which  Harvey  was  admitted,  was  a  small, 
square  hall,  nearly  filled  with  a  broad,  well-lighted  staircase. 

The  narrow,  but  very  rich  foreign  carpet  with  which  this 
was  laid,  and  a  hall-lamp  of  cut  glass  suspended  from  the  ceiling, 
gave  it  an  air  dilFerent  from  most  Yanmouth  interiors  at  that  pe- 
riod, although  now  it  w^ould  be  far  from  unique.  A  sword,  and  an 
old  revolutionary  cocked-hat  hung  on  the  wall.  The  negro  threw 
open  a  door,  and  ushered  the  visitor  into  a  spacious  drawing-room, 
— in  the  vernacular,  the  parlor. 

"  Mr.  Harvey  I"  said  a  soft  voice,  in  an  under  tone  of  shght 
surprise. 

There  were  three  ladies  in  the  parlor,  two  of  whom  have 
already  been  introduced  in  their  pew  at  the  Congregational  meet- 
ing-house, and  it  was  the  younger  of  these  who  spoke,  and  who, 
at  the  same  time,  rose  to  receive  the  English  officer.  The  other 
two  remained  sitting  and  silent,  but  regarded  him  with  a  stare  of 
undisguised  curiosity. 

"  I  called  to  see  your  father,  Miss  Atherton,  on  an  errand  of 
importance  from  my  commanding  officer." 

"  Your  father  is  in  the  bedroom,  Betsey,"  said  a  voice  with 
quickness  ;  and  the  young  lady  addressed  left  the  parlor  without 
further  remark. 

*'  The  bedroom,"  in  a  New  England  house  at  that  time  sig- 
nified the  bedroom  of  "  the  heads"  of  the  family.  It  was  gen- 
erally upon  the  first  or  principal  floor,  and  was  much  used  as  a 
more  sacred  kind  of  sitting-room,  to  which  all  the  members  of  the 
family  proper  had  access  ;  but  when  the  best,  or  drawing-room 
chamber,  was  occupied  by  guests,  as  happened  at  this  time  at 
General  Atherton's,  it  would  also  afford  a  place,  on  Sundays,  or 
at  other  times,  for  devotional  retirement  ;  and  such,  doubtless,  as 
Lieutenant  Harvey  immediately  understood,  was  the  case  at  that 
instant.    The  reader  will  also  at  once  comprehend,  that  the  above 


24 


ALBAN. 


observation,  addressed  to  Miss  Atherton,  proceeded  from  her 
mother.  She  was  a  woman  on  the  shady  side  of  sixty — perhaps 
nearer  three  score  and  ten  ;  very  slight,  very  straight,  sitting 
erect  in  her  chair  by  the  open  east  window,  without  leaning  in 
the  least  upon  the  high  back  for  support ;  a  large  book  was  open 
in  her  lap,  and  she  was  reading  without  the  aid  of  glasses.  The 
close  cap  of  the  time  entirely  concealed  her  gray  hair,  and  sur- 
rounded a  face  that  must  once  have  been  beautiful.  It  was  still 
full  of  vivacity.  On  the  wall  directly  opposite  her  hung  her  own 
portrait,  a  few  years  younger,  perhaps,  but  in  the  same  costume 
that  she  actually  wore—  a  dark  silk  gown  and  snowy  muslin  neck- 
erchief, arranged  with  neat  precision.  Many  other  portraits  < 
adorned  the  walls,  and  we  may  indeed  scrutinize  the  apartment  a 
little,  while  we  are  waiting  in  solemn  silence  for  General  Ather- 
ton to  appear. 

It  was  a  large  room,  as  we  have  said,  and  lofty,  and  the  por- 
traits were  ranged  down  one  side  of  it.  General  Atherton,  whom 
we  have  already  seen  at  meeting,  was  there  by  his  lady's  side,  in 
the  old  continental  blue  and  buff,  the  high,  white  cravat,  and 
rich  frill  of '76.  The  painter  had  caught  well  his  expression  of 
saintly  serenity.  There  was  a  head  which  you  would  have 
sworn  was  his  father's,  but  of  harder  lineaments  ; — the  costume 
plain  and  citizenish,  but  otherwise  scarcely  to  be  made  out ;  and 
another  which  you  might  divine  to  be  his  mother's, — very  soft, 
and  the  most  youthful  in  the  collection  :  it  must  have  been  taken 
three  quarters  of  a  century  before.  Probably  it  was  painted 
by  Smybert,  who  flourished  in  the  then  loyal  colonies,  before 
the  French  war.  The  other  portraits  were  more  modern  ;  one 
smooth,  youthful  countenance,  almost  boyish,  surprised  you  by  its 
association  with  a  parson's  gown  and  bands, — signs  of  office  which 
the  Congregationalist  ministers  in  Boston,  and  the  larger  cities  of 
New  England  still  retained.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  room,  over 
the  very  high  mantel-piece  of  dark  native  stone,  hung  also  nearly 
a  dozen  miniatures  in  oil,  exquisitely  painted  ;  evidently  all  by 
the  same  hand.    The  massive  little  gilt  frames  made  the  wall 


ALBAN. 


25 


sparkle  ;  and  they  were  disposed  round  a  central  piece, — a  lozenge- 
shaped  coat  of  arms,  worked  in  gold  filagree  and  blue, — a  re- 
splendent object  preserved  in  a  glass  case.  There  was  very  little 
furniture  in  the  apartment,  compared  with  our  modern  profusion. 
An  escritoire  bookcase  of  mahogany,  polished  by  constant  rub- 
bing into  a  sort  of  golden  looking-glass,  and  nearly  covered  with 
spotlessly  bright  and  fanciful  brass  mountings  and  drawer-handles, 
stood  near  the  fireplace.  A  tall,  old-fashioned  clock,  with  the 
moon's  ever-varying  face  moving  on  its  dial,  stood  in  a  darkish 
corner,  solemnly  ticking  in  the  silence.  And  there  was  little  else 
that  was  ornamental. 

The  beautiful  Miss  Atherton  returned  from  her  mission,  saying, 
in  a  low  tone,  that  "Pa"  would  come  in  presently,  and  seating 
herself  by  a  window,  resumed  her  book.  Young  Mrs.  Atherton 
had  not  uttered  a  word.  She  sat  ih  a  low  rocking-chair,  medita- 
ting apparently,  for  her  air  was  serious  though  sweet.  Ten 
minutes  elapsed,  and  General  Atherton  did  not  appear. 

"  Have  you  been  to  church  to-day,  Mr.  Harvey,  or  to  meet- 
ing ?"  suddenly  asked  old  Mrs.  Atherton. 

"  To  meeting,  madam,  in  the  morning,"  said  the  officer. 

"  Ah  I  then  you  saw  my  grandson  christened,"  broke  in  the 
old  lady  with  animation. 

"  Saw  him  baptized,  you  mean,  ma  !"  said  young  Mrs.  Ather- 
ton, faintly,  and  with  a  slight  winning  smile  of  remonstrance, 

"  No,  child,  I  mean  christened  ; — is  not  that  what  you  call  it 
at  home — in  Old  England,  Mr.  Harvey  ?" 

"  Baptized  or  christened,  madam,  is  the  same,  I  have  always 
understood,"  said  the  lieutenant. 

Miss  Atherton' s  lip  curled,  but  she  did  not  look  up  from  her 
book. 

"How  did  you  like  the  name  ?"  pursued  the  old  lady,  with  a 
courteous  but  sarcastic  air.  Harvey  s£i,id  he  thought  it  a  very 
good  name,  and  Miss  Atherton's  lip  curled  again. 

"  It  comes  from,  a  good  source,"  said  the  old  lady,  turning 

over  to  th§  fir&t  pEiges  of  her  book, — "  the  calendar  of  the  Church 

3 


26 


ALBAN. 


of  England  Prayer-book — the  only  prayer-book  I  ever  use. — 
Yesterday  was  St.  Alban's  day,  and  I  find  he  was  the  first 
English  martyr,-  so,  as  I  was  promised  the  naming  of  the  boy,  I 
chose  that.  It  is  better  than  Hezekiah  or  Samuel,  don't  you 
think  ?" 

"  Those  names  are  both  in  the  Bible,  you  know,  mamma  I" 
said  the  married  daughter  ;  "  I  am  sure  you  really  like  them." 
"  I  like  Hezekiah  in  your  father,  Grace." 

"  And  Samuel  in  my  husband,  I  hope,"  said  the  daughter, 
with  a  smile,  though  somewhat  pained. 

"  He  was  named  after  his  father,  who  was  President  of  Con- 
gress," said  the  old  lady,  "  and  a  signer  of  the  Declaration  ; — not 
that  I  think  any  better  of  him  for  that," — and  she  glanced  out 
of  the  window  towards  the  fort  on  the  distant  heights. 

"  And  Samuel  in  the  Bible  was  one  of  the  judges,  and  a 
prophet  of  the  Lord,"  said  Mrs.  Samuel  Atherton,  with  perse- 
vering suavity. 

"  And  Alban  in  the  Prayer-book  was  one  of  the  martyrs,  and 
a  saint  of  the  Lord  ;"  rejoined  her  mother. 

Truly,  it  has  excited  our  surprise  that  this  young  descendant 
of  the  Puritans,  christened  in  a  Congregationalist  meeting-house, 
should  receive  the  name  of  a  Catholic  saint.  But  we  have  not 
time  to  think  about  it,  for  at  length,  the  General  Hezekiah  so 
long  waited  for,  comes  in  from  his  retirement,  and  listens  with 
grave  but  gracious  attention  to  the  British  officer's  story. 

"  What  you  urge  is  reasonable,  Mr.  Harvey,"  said  he,  at  its 
conclusion.  "  Deacon  Flint  is  a  good  man,  but  his  zeal  in  this 
instance  has  carried  hira  further  than  duty  required  him  to  go. 
It  would  have  sufficed  to  reprimand  your  men,  and  send  them 
back  to  their  boat.  I  will  go  with  you  to  his  house,  and  doubt 
not  to  obtain  an  order  for  their  release." 

"  It  is  a  work  of  necessity  and  mercy,"  said  the  younger  Mrs. 
Atherton. 

"  I  think  so,  daughter  Grace." 


ALB AN . 


27 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  was  almost  the  longest  day  of  the  year,  of  course,  and  it 
seemed  that  the  sun  never  ivould  go  down  that  evening.  Grad- 
ually, however,  the  shadow  of  the  hill  climbed  up  the  quaint  brick 
pillars  of  the  old  Atherton  house — the  "  Cassle,"  as  black  Sam 
called  it — and  chased  the  red  light  up  the  varied  slopes  of  the 
black  roof,  till  at  last  only  the  gilt  points  of  the  forked  lightning- 
rod  sparkled  in  the  day-beam.  Then  Elizabeth  Atherton  came  out 
among  the  roses  and  honeysuckles  of  the  piazza,  and  sauntered 
into  the  garden,  lifting  her  gracious  white  drapery  a  little,  as  she 
went  up  the  terraced  parterres,  till  her  form  was  seen  at  their 
highest  point  defined  against  the  crimson  sky. 

It  was  in  the  angle  of  the  wall  that  she  stood,  where  a  great 
rock  emerged  above  the  surface  ;  the  road  ran  some  twenty  feet 
below  on  one  side  ;  on  the  other,  her  father's  domain  extended,  in 
grass  land  and  locust  groves.  The  land  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
road  was  also  General  Atherton's,  except  the  very  topmost  slope 
of  the  hill,  which  was  fenced  off  by  itself,  with  a  line  of  trees  run- 
ning along  its  lower  boundary.  This  separated  lot  manifested  the 
purpose  to  which  it  was  devoted,  by  hundreds  of  grassy  mounds, 
with  numerous  white  gravestones  interspersed.  At  the  date  of  this 
present  writing.  General  Atherton,  with  his  wife,  and  both  their 
daughters — the  beautiful  Elizabeth  herself — repose  beneath  one  of 
the  highest  knolls,  which  is  crowned  by  their  tall  obelisk  tomb- 
stones. Be  not  too  sad,  reader  ;  for  consider  that  thirty-five  years 
have  elapsed  ;  and  of  those  four,  one  only  died  in  youth.  A  com- 
mon fate,  late  or  soon,  ingulfs  the  earthly  life  of  all. 

The  golden  ray  (we  mean  it)  at  length  had  ceased  to  tinge  even 
the  highest  rampart  of  Yantic  fort ;  it  was  positively  sundown  ; 
and  a  stir  became  apparent  in  Yanmouth.  From  her  lofty  post  of 
observation,  Betsey  Atherton  could  see  many  a  doorway  become 


28 


ALBAN. 


enlivened  with  white  dresses  and  summer  trowsers  ;  now  a  soHtary 
beau,  and  then  a  whole  bevy  of  girls  would  flutter  down  or  across 
a  street.  Laughter  was  heard  in  the  twilight,  and  music,  and  the 
resounding  of  gates  swung  to  with  a  sort  of  consciousness  that  the 
Sabbath  was  over.  Soon  a  quite  numerous  party  were  descried 
corning  up  the  hill,  and  crossing  the  green  towards  her  father's 
house.  They  came  in  at  the  upper  gate  talking  gayly  and  loud. 
Ehzabeth  saw  her  father  and  elder  sister  go  out  to  meet  them  on 
the  terrace  steps.  After  a  short  conversation,  two  or  three  girls, 
and  as  many  youths,  broke  away  from  the  rest,  and  came  actually 
running  into  the  garden,  the  females  in  advance  of  their  compan- 
ions. As  they  flew  along  the  terraces,  one  gave  a  faint,  hoydenish 
scream,  and  another  laughed. 

"  Vt'hy  girls.'  how  you  act said  Miss  Atherton,  reproachfully, 
in  her  low,  soft  voice,  slightly  drawling  the  two  itahcized  words. 

They  were  all  beautiful  creatures,  to  speak  generally,  fragile 
in  make,  and  reaching  apparently,  in  age,  from  sixteen  to  twenty. 
One  had  a  profusion  of  long,  light  brown  ringlets  falling  on  her 
shoulders  ;  another's  glossy  raven  hair  was  classically  twisted ; 
the  third  had  short  crisp  French  curls  all  around  her  forehead  and 
temples.  Two  of  the  gentlemen  who  followed  them  were  English 
officers,  and  one  of  these  was  our  friend  Harvey,  with  whom  Miss 
Atherton  shook  hands,  and  said,  with  a  very  sweet  and  gentle, 
though  amused  smile  : 

"  I  trust  you  have  succeeded  in  liberating  the  captives,  Lieuten- 
ant Harvey  ?" 

"  I  wish  J.  could  as  easily  deliver  another  captive  that  I  know 
of,  Miss  Atherton,"  replied  the  lieutenant  gallantly. 

The  girls  all  giggled,  and  the  other  gentleman  exclaimed,  "All 
the  captives  I  you  ought  to  say,  Harvey."  And  the  three  girls 
laughed  again,  and  Miss  Atherton  said  she  thought  "  they  were 
possessed .'" 

"VYe  are  afraid  that  if  we  were  to  continue  our  account  of  the 
conversation,  it  would  not  prove  greatly  more  edifying  than  the 
slight  specimen  we  have  given.     Miss  Atherton  herself  gradually 


ALBAN. 


29 


took  part  in  what  she  at  first  seemed  to  consider  the  undignified 
conduct  of  her  friends  :  at  least  she  laughed,  though  low  and 
musically,  as  people  say,  and^retorted  their  silly  railleries.  By  and 
by  it  was  proposed  to  promenade  up  and  down  the  walks  ;  and 
the  young  ladies  accepted  without  scruple  the  oflered  arms  of  the 
cavaliers.  The  conversation  now  became  more  subdued ;  the 
moon  rose  upon  the  rugged  but  beautiful  landscape  ;  the  terraces 
of  turf  and  stone,  and  the  long,  white  piazza  were  partly  in  shade, 
and  partly  in  a  soft  glitter. 

"  The  new  world  is  more  charming  than  the  old,"  said  the 
English  officer. 

"  A  nd  you  are  really  serious  in  your  plan  of  giving  up  your 
profession  and  settling  in  the  West  ?" 

"  Never  more  serious  in  my  life..  Your  brother-in-law  has 
promised  to  sell  me  a  township  in  the  Genesee  country,  not  entirely 
beyond  the  reach  of  civilization  either,  and  for  a  mere  trifle." 

"  But  you  first  return  to  England  ?" 

"  We  sail  on  Thursday,"  said  the  lieutenant. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Miss  Atherton,  looking  up  at  him. 
The  English  officer  was  a  handsome  fellow. 

"And  I  was  never  so  sorry  in  my  life,"  replied  the  lieutenant. 
"  To  be  quite  plain — since  I  am  going  so  soon — and  may  not  have 
another  opportunity,  (let  us  turn  up  this  walk,  Miss  Atherton,)  you 
are  the  cause." 

The  sailor  hemmed  and  cleared  his  throat.  There  was  nothing 
sufficiently  definite  said  yet  for  a  lady  to  answer,  but  enough  for 
a  lady  to  understand.    Miss  Atherton  looked  down  of  course, 

"  I  ventured  to  speak  to  your  father  this  afternoon,"  pursued 
the  lieutenant,  rather  vaguely.  "  He  reproved  me  for  mentioning 
it  on  Sunday — on  the  Sabbath  I  mean — but  referred  me  to  you." 

"  Mentioning  what  ?"  said  the  young  New  England  lady,  with 
characteristic  caution. 

"  I  thought  I  had  explained  that.  Miss  Atherton.  What  could 
I  mention  but  my  attachment — my  respectful,  devoted  attachment 
to  yourself?" 

8* 


30 


ALBAN. 


The  young  lady  immediately  had  the  air  of  one  very  much  sur- 
prised. Young  ladies  are  always  surprised,  and  yet  somehow  they 
know  very  well.  Miss  Atherton  withdrew  her  hand  softly  from 
her  companion's  arm.  She  stopped  abruptly  midway  of  the  walk, 
aud  turning  away  slightly,  looked  over  the  low  rough  wall  towards 
the  burying-ground,  where  the  gravestones  glittered  like  her  own 
raiment.  What  a  question  is  she  deciding  I  It  is  whether  she 
shall  be  a  wife  and  mother,  and  go  with  a  companion  whom  she 
likes,  and  whom  she  would  easily  learn  to  love  with  tenderness,  to 
a  clime  and  soil,  an  air  and  mode  of  life  far  more  favorable  to  her 
delicate,  but  untainted  constitution,  than  that  of  the  stern  New 
England  coast,  and  where  she  would  probably  have  lived  as  long 
as  our  New  England  flowers  generally  do  when  transplanted  to 
the  alluvial  West ;  or  whether  she  shall  lie  soon — a  virgin — under 
yon  moonlit  knoll.  She  has  no  conception  of  this  aspect  of  the 
question,  yet  there  seems  something  deeper  than  either  maiden 
coyness  in  confessing,  or  womanly  reluctance  to  give  pain  in. 
denying,  a  reciprocation  of  the  feeling  with  which  she  has 
been  addressed.  She  does  not  look  at  her  companion,  which  is 
unfortunate,  for  he  is  a  manly  figure,  most  particularly  good-look- 
ing, and  now  an  ardent  and  sympathetic  agitation  quickens  his 
deep  respiration,  and  his  fine  embrowned  features  express  many 
things  that  females  instantly  appreciate,  and  greatly  like, — sin- 
cerity, warmth  of  feeling,  respectful  fear,  passionate  admiration. 
There  was  clearly  a  struggle  in  the  maiden's  bosom,  but  it  was 
brief. 

"  I  am  sorry — veiy  sorry — that  you  feel  so,  Mr.  Harvey, — that 
is — I  cannot — ."  She  hesitated.  "  You  know  my  principles, 
Lieutenant  Harvey  ;  I  cannot  reconcile  it  to  my  conscience  to 
marry  one  who  is  not  a  Christian," 

"Not  a  Christian,  Miss  Atherton  !  My  God  !  do  you  take  me 
for  an  infideL?" 

"  Oh,  no,  not  an  infidel,  sir ;  but  you  do  not  so  much  as  believe 
in  that  change  of  heart  which  we  think  necessary  to  make  a  real 
Christian.    I  always  resolved,"  added  she,  and  her  delicate  pro- 


ALBAN. 


31 


file  looked  firmness  itself, — "  I  always  resolved  never  to  marry 
any  but  a  Christian." 

"  But  this  is  a  very  extraordinary  resolution,"  said  the  lieu- 
tenant, with  profound  seriousness.  "  You  have  three  married 
sisters,  Miss  Atherton,  and  not  one  of  their  husbands  is  a  Chris- 
tian, in  that  sense  of  the  word.  Why,  there  is  your  own  mother, 
Miss  Atherton,  who  is  of  my  church  : — I  am  as  much  a  Christian 
as  she  is,  am  I  not  ?" 

"  That  does  not  alter  the  right  and  wrong  of  the  case,"  said 
Miss  Atherton,  mildly. 

Others  of  the  party  now  approached,  and  the  pair  resumed 
their  walk,  but  Miss  Atherton  did  not  resume  her  lover's  arm. 

"  I  may  venture  to  think  that  at  least  you  have  no  other  ob- 
jection," said  the  lieutenant.  "  My  family,  I  believe,  is  as  good 
as  yours,  though  it  may  not  be  so  distinguished.  Miss  Atherton." 

"  I  never  thought  of  comparing  them,"  said  the  young  lady. 

"  I  cannot  boast  of  my  million  acres  of  wild  land,  and  my 
forty  ships  sailing  to  the  Indies,  like  your  brother-in-law,  Mr. 
Samuel  Atherton." 

After  a  few  moments'  thoughtful  silence  Betsey  Atherton 
touched  quickly  with  her  finger  that  region  of  the  forehead  where 
phrenologists  locate  the  organ  of  calculation,  and  replied,  with  a 
mixture  of  archness  and  sweet  sincerity  : — 

"  My  highest  aspiration,  when  I  have  sometimes  thought  of 
wedded  life  as  most  desirable  for  one  of  my  sex,  has  been  to  marry 
a  talented  minister,  settled  over  some  large  society,  in  New  York 
or  Boston,  like  my  brother  Jonathan,  whose  income.  Lieutenant 
Harvey,  is  considerably  less  than  your  patrimony  would  produce, 
if  converted  into  dollars  and  put  out  at  the  American  rate  of  in- 
terest." 


32 


A LB AN . 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  life  of  Master  Alban  Atherton,  till  he  was  about  eight 
years  old,  crept  on  (the  days,  upon  a  child,  drop  one  by  one, 
slowly,  like  the  beads  of  a  novice)  between  his  father's  house  in 
the  great  city  and  his  grandfather's  in  the  rural  haven  of  Yan- 
mouth.  At  that  time,  owing  to  the  nearly  annual  visit  of  yellow 
fever,  New  York  was  not  considered  a  safe  summer  residence,  and 
as  the  commercial  difficulties  that  followed  the  peace  pressed  too 
dangerously  on  one  who  had  (literally)  so  much  heavy  canvas 
spread  as  our  hero's  father,  to  allow  of  his  remaining  long  at  a 
distance  from  his  counting-house,  and  Mrs.  Atherton  would  not 
permit  the  long  months  from  May  till  the  frost  to  separate  her 
from  her  husband,  the  boy  was  naturally  sent  to  his  grandfather's. 
Here  his  aunt  Elizabeth  took  charge  of  him  ;  and  it  is  no  slight 
privilege  to  know  in  early  childhood  the  modesty  of  virginal  care. 
By  itself,  indeed,  it  might  have  proved  too  cold  an  influence,  under 
which  the  young  soul  would  have  blanched  like  flowers  exposed 
only  to  moonlight ;  but  at  the  end  of  every  six  months  little  Alban 
passed  into  the  warmer  arms  of  his  mother,  and  played  his  winters 
through  in  the  glow  of  his  father's  hearth.  The  great  parlor  at 
the  "  Cassle,"  with  its  sparse,  old-fashioned  furniture,  and  windows 
shaded  but  by  the  honeysuckles  and  massive  pillars  of  the  piazza, 
was  not  more  different  from  Mrs.  Atherton's  winter  drawing-room 
with  its  crimson  damask  curtains,  its  modern  sofa  covered  with 
sumptuous  red  velvet,  and  the  sideboard  of  silver  plate  and 
Chinese  porcelain  which  glittered  in  its  deep  recess,  than  was  the 
spirit  of  the  former  abode  from  that  of  the  latter. 

Mr.  Samuel  Atherton  was  a  hearty,  genial  character,  devoted 
to  the  world,  particularly  to  the  increase  of  his  fortune,  fond  of 
good  living,  hospitable,  friendly,  generous,  confiding,  quick  in  re- 
sentments, susceptible  of  the  influence  of  female  beauty.  With 


ALB  AN 


33 


his  intellectual  power  and  his  strong  passions  he  might  have  made 
a  bad  man,  had  he  not  been  endowed  with  great  conscientiousness. 
His  education  had  been  one  of  great  simplicity,  and  he  had  always 
been  involved  in  business.  His  Affection  for  his  wife  and  son  was 
of  the  warmest  kind.  If  refmement,  gentleness,  and  a  deep  sense 
of  religion  breathed  out  upon  young  Alban  from  his  slight,  quiet, 
blue-eyed  mother,  the  great  frame,  vital  activity,  and  cordial  laugh 
of  his  father  inspired  quaUties,  as  well  physical  as  moral,  of  a  far 
different  order. 

There  was  a  difference  of  system  as  well  as  of  persons  and 
things  between  New  York  and  Yanmouth.  At  both  our  young 
hero  learned  the  rudiments  of  religion  from  the  Westminster 
Catechism,  but  at  his  grandfather's,  twice  a  day,  the  household 
were  assembled  round  what  is  called  in  New  England,  metapho- 
rically, the  family  altar  :  while  at  his  father's,  a  grace  before 
meat,  of  extreme  brevity,  constituted  the  visible  domestic  worship. 
Mr.  Samuel  Atherton  was  not  a  "  professor,"  and  in  fact,  rather 
went  beyond  the  New  England  notion  of  consistency,  in  one  as 
yet  unacquainted  with  the  power  of  vital  godliness,  even  by  say- 
ing grace  at  his  own  table.  The  Sabbath  was  observed  in  both 
houses  with  equal  strictness,  but  (it  was  a  less  point,  yet  by  no 
means  an  unimportant  one)  at  Yanmouth,  Saturday  evening  was 
"kept;"  in  New  York,  Sunday  evening  was  reckoned  "holy 
time."  So,  at  a  very  early  age,  the  boy  learned  that  at  Yanmouth 
the  church  of  the  family  was  Congregationalist,  but  in  New 
York,  Presbyterian  ;  and  that  these  churches  differed  not  in 
"  doctrine,"  as  he  was  told,  but  *'  only  in  church  government." 
The  longing  for  unity,  which  is  one  of  the  strongest  instincts  of 
the  human  mind,  compelled  his  young  soul  to  puzzle  itself  over 
this  mysterious  diversity,  and  unable,  as  children  always  are,  to 
think  that  two  ways  to  heaven  can  be  right,  he  inwardly,  even 
at  that  early  age,  exercised  his  power  of  choice,  and  finding  the 
mere  claim  of  authority  doubtless  a  proof  of  its  validity,  he 
accepted  Presbyter}^  and  placed  Congregationalism,  as  such,  under 
his  childish  anathema. 


34 


AL  BAN . 


At  Yanmouth,  too,  a  mystery  of  another  sort  became  an 
element  of  young  Al ban's  imagination.  It  is  that  geographical 
mystery  which  children  and  peasants, — all  ignorant  minds, — feel 
as  so  attractive,  yet  so  awful.  "  What  lay  beyond  the  circle  of 
hills  that  bounded  on  the  north  the  view  from  his  grandfather's 
terraces  ?  Alban,  at  seven  years,  had  journeyed  by  water,  but 
never  by  land.  And  then  there  was  the  Yantic,  that  came 
flowing  out  of  those  hills,  with  rich  woods  overhanging  its  eddy- 
ing stream — what  sort  of  region  lay  about  its  sources  ? — who 
dwelt  around  its  fountains  ? 

"  "VYhat  do  they  call  the  place  where  the  river  falls,  aunty  ?" 
he  asked. 

"  It  is  called  Yantic  Falls,  my  dear." 

"  That  is  not  the  same  Yantic  Falls  where  uncle  and  aunt 
Hezekiah  live,  and  cousin  Rachel,  is  it  aunty  ?" 
"  The  very  same,  Alban." 

"  Oh,  is  it  the  same  ?"  said  the  child.  Then,  after  some 
minutes'  meditation,  "  And  grandpa  lived  there  too,  a  great — 
great  while  ago,  did  he  not,  aunt  Betsey  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear  child,  he  did.  All  the  Athertons  lived 
first  at  Yantic  Falls.  Your  great-uncles — your  grandfather's 
brothers — live  there  now  ;  and  a  great  many  other  Athertons, 
who  are  your  relations,  more  or  less  near." 

"  Is  Yantic  Falls  so  large  as  Yanmouth  ?" 

"  Yes,  Alby,  it  is  larger." 

"  It  is  not  so  pretty,  is  it,  aunty  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  it  is  a  much  more  beautiful  place — the  most 
beautiful  I  ever  saw  in  my  life." 

"  And  do  my  great-uncles  all  live  in  houses  just  like  grand- 
pa's ?" 

"  No,  my  dear  : — they,  with  others  of  your  kindred,  live  in 
the  old  Atherton  homesteads,  where  our  ancestors  have  lived,  ever 
since  the  family  came  here,  that  is,  almost  for  two  hundred 
years." 

*'  AYhat  are  ancestors  ?"  asked  the  child. 


ALBAN. 


35 


Our  grandparents,  and  our  great-grandparents,  and  our 
great-great-grandparents,  and  our  great-great-great-grandparents, 
and  so  on,  as  far  back  as  you  like  to  go,  up  to  Noah  or  to  Adam," 
said  his  aunt,  soberly  laughing. 

"  And  homesteads — what  are  they  ?" 

"  A  homestead  is  the  house  where  our  ancestors  lived,  one 
after  another,  and  which  belonged  to  them,  with  all  the  land 
round  it.  But  you  have  asked  questions  enough  for  the  present. 
Some  day  I  will  take  you  to  Yantic  Falls,  and  then  you  shall 
see  the  old  homestead, — our  own,  I  mean — the  old  homestead  of 
all." 

^  But  I  cannot  see  our  ancestors,  aunty,  for  they  are  dead." 

"  'No,  Alby,  but  you  shall  see  their  graves." 

It  was  a  great  event  when  little  Alban  was  taken  by  his 
aunt  one  Saturday  afternoon  to  Yantic  Falls.  One  of  Elizabeth 
Atherton's  married  sisters  was  "  settled"  in  Yanmouth,  and  it  was 
young  Mansfield — a  nearly  full-grown  nephew,  and  Alban's 
cousin,  who  drove  them  in  General  Atherton  s  chaise.  The 
chaise,  alias  gig,  and  the  pleasure- wagon,  were  nearly  the  only 
carriages  then  known  in  Connecticut.  It  was  about  a  century, 
in  fact,  since  the  great-grandfather  of  General  Atherton  had  set 
up  at  Yantic  Falls  the  first  chaise  ever  seen  in  the  colony,  and 
the  family  had  never  since  used  any  grander  vehicle.  The  dis- 
tance from  Yanmouth  to  the  Falls,  was  only  a  dozen  miles  or 
thereabouts  ;  the  road  was  hilly,  indeed,  but  in  fair  order,  and 
wound  its  way  through  a  half-wild,  and  highly  picturesque 
country,  that  showed,  however,  at  every  step,  more  of  fertility 
and  of  culture.  The  little  Alban  evinced  a  quick  eye  for 
scenery.  Every  gray  rock  overhanging  the  road,  every  copse, 
with  its  sweet  spring  gurgling  over  living  green  by  the  road-side, 
every  glimpse  of  the  winding  river,  with  its  shadowy  islets, 
elicited  expressions  of  delight  which  made  Tom  Mansfield  laugh, 
and  charmed  the  quiet  heart  of  Betsey  Atherton.  But  it  was 
when,  about  half-way  to  the  Falls  from  Yanmouth,  they  suddenly 
came  upon  an  Indian  village  in  an  ancient  clearing,  belted  with 


36 


ALB AN . 


the  oldest  woods  of  the  region,  that  Master  Albaii's  transports 
could  scarcely  be  restrained.  Here  was  indeed  a  new  world 
which  no  one  could  have  suspected  to  exist  within  so  short  a 
distance  from  Yanmouth.  Not  but  that  the  Indians  frequently 
came  down  to  the  port,  with  fruit  and  fish,  or  moccasins,  and 
baskets  of  birch-bark,  braided  with  porcupine  quills  ;  and 
sometimes  a  blanketed  squaw,  with  blue  trowsers  under  her  single 
short  petticoat  of  the  same  color,  and  a  man's  hat  on  her 
head,  her  patient  papoose  bound  ta  a  straight  board  between 
her  shoulders,  would  stray  into  the  kitchen  of  the  "  Cassle,"  and 
sit  in  silence,  (till  black  Hagar  as  silently  brought  cold  meat, 
or  perhaps  some  cast-off  finery  of  her  mistress,)  scorning  to 
beg,  and  departing  with  a  stately  "  good  morning"  by  way  of 
thanks. 

Alban  was  familiar  with  this  ;  but  an  Indian  town  I  the  huts,' 
the  yellow  gourds,  the  half-naked  little  boys  ;  it  was  quite  like 
one  of  grandma's  stories.  He  almost  wished  that  he  had  been  an 
Indian.  Betsey  Atherton's  beautiful  face  also  lighted  up  Avith 
intense  feeling  of  some  sort,  as  they  passed  out  of  the  old  Mohe- 
gan  village. 

"  When  you  are  a  man,  Alban,  if  you  are  a  true  Christian,  as 
I  hope  you  will  be,"  she  said,  "  you  can  be  a  missionary,  and 
teach  the  Indians  to  love  Christ." 

The  "  Falls"  answered  very  well  to  Elizabeth  Atherton's  de- 
scription. Alban  was  silent  and  attentive,  as  the  strong  bay 
horse  drew  the  chaise  up  the  hill  that  led  from  the  "  Landing," 
or  business  part  of  the  town,  to  the  "  Plain."  Under  the  hill-side 
covered  with  junipers,  across  the  wide  greens  shaded  with  elms, 
they  trotted  along  with  the  steal thiness  peculiar  to  gigs.  All  the 
houses  were  of  wood,  double  and  two  storied,  and  painted  white 
or  yellow.  They  stood  in  green  shrubberied  court-yards,  with 
white  railings,  and  noble  trees  in  front ;  gardens  in  the  rear.  They 
stopped  at  one  which  seemed  older  than  the  rest,  for  it  was  more 
deeply  embowered.  Before  Thomas  Mansfield  could  help  his 
aunt  and  Alban  out  of  the  chaise,  the  yellow  front-door  was 


ALBAN . 


37 


opened,  and  a  young  lady  came  out  exclaiming,  "  Why,  Bessie, 
how  do  you  do  ?"  and  ran  to  meet  them  at  the  gate. 
*"  How  do  you  do,  Rachel  ?" 

The  ladies  kissed  each  other  with  great  seeming  affection,  and 
Rachel  kissed  Alban  two  or  three  times,  but  the  great  Thomas 
Mansfield  once.  The  passing  by  of  one  or  two  persons,  who  gave 
the  arrival  a  look  of  curiosity,  did  not  seem  to  embarrass  at  all 
these  cordial  welcomes.  Rachel  led  them  into  the  house,  and  at 
the  door  met  them  a  middle-aged  motherly  matron,  who  kissed  all 
the  new-comers. 

"  You  come  in  good  time,  sister,"  she  said  to  Miss  Atherton. 
**  Dinner  will  be  ready  in  half  an  hour,  but  if  little  Alban  is 
hungry,  as  he  must  be  after  his  ride,  he  shall  have  a  piece  of 
gingerbread  immediately.  Do,  Rachel,  get  Alban  a  piece  of  that 
gingerbread  hot  from  the  oven." 

In  fact,  the  house  was  fragrant  with  the  recent  "  bake."  It 
was  Saturday,  you  know. 

4 


38 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  I  LIKE  exceedingly  the  plan  of  taking  Alby  to  see  all  the 
Athertons,  and  the  old  Atherton  homesteads,"  said  Rachel  Ather- 
ton  to  Betsey.  "  It  is  a  very  wholesome  thought  that  we  belong 
to  a  race  rooted  in  the  land  for  many  generations — a  race  which 
God  has  multiplied  and  blessed." 

"  I  thought  that  it  would  teach  the  child  what  is  meant  by  the 
God  of  his  fathers,"  said  Betsey  Atherton,  with  her  sweetest  smile. 

"  To  whom  I  trust  that  he  will  be  faithful  as  his  fathers  have 
ever  been,  in  spite  of  his  being  named  after  a  Catholic  saint," 
said  Rachel's  father. 

This  conversation  occurred  at  dinner. 

Deacon  Hezekiah  Atherton  was  Elizabeth's  oldest  brother, 
the  sterner  image  of  their  father,  yet  of  a  singular  and  almost  en- 
chanting suavity  in  his  occasional  manner.  Rachel  was  but  a 
few  years  her  aunt's  junior,  and  their  intimacy  was  sisterly.  She 
was  in  her  maiden  prime  then, — scarcely  turned  of  twenty  ;  tall, 
a  dark,  bright  face  ;  fine  eyes,  sparkling  teeth,  a  smile  of  irresisti- 
ble sympathy.  Rachel  Atherton  was  what  is  called  an  intellec- 
tual girl.  She  had  imagination,  enthusiasm,  and  great  moral 
energy.  She  was  by  no  means  so  beautiful  as  her  aunt  ;  her 
figure  though  passable,  wanted  the  charming  undulations  of  Bet- 
sey Atherton,  whose  every  line  was  harmony,  and  her  every 
motion  grace  ;  yet  Rachel  had  already  twenty  admirers  to  Eliza- 
beth's one. 

"  You  don't  find  our  table  so  elegantly  furnished  as  yours  at 
the  '  Castle,'  sister  Betsey,"  said  Deacon  Atherton. 

"  I  am  afraid  Bessie  finds  more  serious  fault,"  said  Rachel, 
glancing  at  the  slice  of  fresh  bread,  by  the  side  of  her  aunt-friend's 
plate,  of  which  the  crust  only  had  been  touched.  "  My  bread  is 
sour  to-day," 


ALBAN. 


39 


"  E-achel  has  so  many  books  to  read,  and  so  many  enterprises 
of  charity  on  hand,  that  her  housekeeping  suffers  ;"  said  her 
father. 

"  The  bread  is  raised  a  trifle  too  much,"  said  Ehzabeth, 
candidly,  "but  I  get  along  very  well.  Pa  is  so  particular,  that  / 
am  obliged  to  be  as  particular  myself  at  the  Castle,  as  you  say." 

"  And  you  have  no  pictures  to  paint,"  said  her  brother,  glancing 
at  the  numerous  water-color  copies  of  celebrated  pictures  which 
decorated  the  dining-room. 

"  No  ;  I  do  not  possess  Rachel's  enviable  talent  in  that  respect," 
rejoined  Betsey,  with  an  admiring  glance  at  a  finely-colored 
"Deposition,"  after  Rubens. 

Indeed,  it  was  not  only  the  sour  bread  that  betrayed  to  Bessie's 
experience  some  neglect  of  the  fine  details  of  New  England  house- 
keeping ;  but  she  knew  her  friend's  infirmity.  Cutting  an  over- 
sweetened  tart,  (which  Master  Alby — little  epicure — left  on  his 
plate,)  Rachel  informed  her  friend  that  after  dinner  she  would 
accompany  her  in  a  general  visitation  of  the  Atherton  famihes, 
and  would  take  the  opportunity  to  unfold  to  her  a  scheme  of  which 
she  was  full,  and  which  Bessie,  she  was  sure,  would  approve. 
The  chaise  was  brought  to  the  door  ;  the  two  girls  took  their 
places,  with  Tom  Mansfield  sitting  between  them  on  the  edge  of 
the  two  cushions  just  where  they  met  ;  Master  Alban  had  a  stool 
placed  at  his  aunt's  feet.  It  was  a  load,  but  the  bay  horse  was 
strong.  Away  they  go,  under  the  lofty  elms  that  line  the  road. 
On  one  side  of  the  broad  green  are  the  white  houses  amid  their 
gardens  ;  on  the  other  rises  the  steep  hill,  covered  with  juniper 
and  pine.  They  are  to  call  on  at  least  a  dozen  families,  all  own- 
ing the  name  of  Atherton,  all  more  or  less  nearly  related  to  little 
Alby,  either  on  the  father's  or  mother's  side,  all  in  a  circuit  of  some 
four  miles  square, — a  beautiful  rus-in-urbe,  so  mingling  farm  and 
town,  fair  streets,  wild  hills,  thick  groves,  romantic  waterfalls, 
lonely  meeting-houses,  and  factory  villages.  The  burying-ground 
of  Indian  sachems  lay  in  a  wood  near  one  of  the  finest  mansions, 
and  many  a  strange  tradition  was  told  by  Rachel  of  Indian  battles 


40 


ALB AN . 


and  sanguinary  acts  of  vengeance,  of  which  she  pointed  out  to 
Alby  the  precise  locahties.  Then  the  manners  of  the  people, 
which  Alby  was  too  young  to  appreciate  : — the  blended  urbanity 
and  rusticity  of  his  kinsmen, — people  who  had  never  known  a 
superior,  and  acknowledged  none  but  their  j\Iaker,  dwelling  in  the 
old  homesteads  which  had  never  (so  they  boasted)  passed  out  of 
the  name  ;  or  swarming  in  new  hives,  destined,  as  they  hoped,  to 
a  similar  permanence.  Everywhere  Alby  was  made  much  of: 
all  said  that  he  must  be  very  happy  to  live  with  his  grandfather, 
and  that  they  hoped  he  would  one  day  be  as  good  a  man.  It 
being  Saturday  afternoon,  all  invited  him  to  stay  to  tea,  and 
promised  him  a  dish  of  local  celebrity,  which  on  the  eve  of  the 
Sabbath  smoked  on  every  decent  supper-table  in  Yantic  : — baked 
beans  and  pork.  Alby  wanted  to  accept  the  first  invitation,  but 
finding  that  he  was  sure  of  the  regale  anywhere,  he  declined  the 
subsequent  invitations  with  the  best  grace.  Upon  the  whole,  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  any  scion  of  English  aristocracy  was 
ever  more  impressed  by  a  visit  to  the  stately  manorial  residence 
of  his  race  than  was  our  Alban  by  his,  to  the  rural  city  founded 
by  his  Puritan  and  republican  ancestors,  who,  indeed,  had  been 
the  founders,  not  of  that  single  community  only,  but  of  vast 
commonwealths . 

It  was  not  till  they  had  finished  the  round  of  calls,  and  had 
turned  their  faces  homev/ard,  the  day-star  being  already  sunk 
beneath  the  wooded  hills,  that  Rachel  opened  to  Betsey 
Atherton  the  scheme  with  which  her  mind  was  now  profoundly 
exercised.  It  was  two-fold.  First,  she  wanted  to  establish  in  the 
family  a  weekly  "  concert  - of  prayer,"  for  the  "  conversion"  of 
all  its  members  : — this  met  Bessie's  warmest  approval.  Secondly, 
she  wanted  Bessie  to  unite  with  her  in  a  project  for  converting 
the  Indian  village  between  Yanmouth  and  the  "Falls"  to  real 
Christianity,  and  for  giving  them  the  regular  institutions  of  the 
gospel. 

"  It  is  most  desirable,"  said  Bessie ;  "  but  how  are  we  to 
accomplish  so  good  an  object  ?" 


ALBAN. 


41 


"  We  are  to  go  and  live  among  them,"  replied  Rachel  ;  "  teach 
the  women  and  children, — hold  regular  prayer  meetings  with  the 
former." 

"  But  how  is  my  father's  housekeeping  and  yours  to  go  on 
meanwhile,  my  dear  Rachel  ?  Our  mothers  depend  on  us,  you 
know." 

"Why,"  said  Rachel,  "Ma  is  as  zealous  as  I  am  in  the 
matter  ;  she  has  agreed  to  take  weeks  with  me  ;  you  must  do  the 
same  with  grandmamma  ;  and  then  lue  can  reside  alternately  a 
week  at  a  time  at  Mohegan  Town." 

"What,  alone  I"  exclaimed  Bessie,  in  alarm.  "Oh  no:  I 
could  not.  Besides,  my  mother,  you  know,  is  too  far  advanced  in 
years,  for  the  fatigues  and  care  of  housekeeping.  Really,  it  does 
not  seem  to  be  my  duty  to  throw  them  upon  her  every  alternate 
week,  in  order  that  I  may  go  teach  the  Indians." 

"  What  is  to  become  of  the  Indians,  then,  in  the  next  world, 
Betsey  ?"  asked  Rachel  Atherton. 

"  Very  true,"  said  Betsey,  much  perplexed.  "  But  to  take 
weeks  with  me  would  soon  kill  mamma." 

This  checked  the  ardent  missionary  for  a  moment,  but  she 
soon  returned  to  the  charge.  "  Why  cannot  the  house  go  on  for 
a  week  at  a  time  without  your  superintendence  ?  Some  things 
might  not  be  quite  so  well  done  as  you  would  do  them,  but  with 
servants  so  well  trained  as  yours,  it  could  not  amount  to  much, 
and  grandpa  is  so  good  a  man,  I  am  sure  that  he  would  cheer- 
fully submit  to  it  for  the  sake  of  saving  souls." 

Bessie  laughed  outright. 

"  You  know  nothing  about  the  care  of  superintending  a  house 
full  of  black  servants,  dear  Rachel.  Your  Esther  will  get  along 
well  enough  in  your  absence  ;  she  is  a  sharp  New  England  girl ; 
but  to  think  of  Hagar  and  Sam  being  left  to  '  rule  the  roast ;' — 
'  de  Cassle'  would  be  topsy-turvy  in  half  a  week  !  What  do 
you  think,  Alby  ;  could  you  do  without  aunty  a  week  at  the 
Castle?" 

"  I  wish  you  could  go  and  save  the  Indians,  aunty,"  said  the 

4* 


42 


ALBAN. 


child,  who  felt  the  contagion  of  his  cousin  Rachel's  enthusiasm, 
more  than  the  justice  of  his  aunt  Betsey's  reasoning. 

"  My  opinion  is,"  said  Tom  Mansfield,  who  had  been  giving  the 
bay  horse  a  good  many  cuts  with  his  whip,  while  the  discussion 
proceeded,  "that  the  weeks  aunt  Betsey  went  to  Mohegan  they 
would  have  to  eat  sour  bread  at  the  Castle." 


ALBAN. 


43 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Rachel  Atherton  was  not  a  girl  to  be  defeated  by  any  thing 
short  of  impossibihties  in  a  scheme  that  had  once  thoroughly 
engaged  her  enthusiasm.  After  failing  in  every  other  argument, 
she  had  one  sure  card  in  the  peculiar  family  pride  of  the  Athertons 
— a  pride  which  attached  itself  far  more  to  the  high  religious  char- 
acter of  their  ancestors  than  to  their  worldly  position.  It  was  a 
source  of  unacknowledged,  but  more  real,  self-complaisance  to 
Elizabeth  Atherton  herself,  as  we  may  have  seen  reason  to  sus- 
pect, that  her  race  was  distinguished  by  an  incontaminate  piety 
and  saintly  devotion,  than  that  it  appertained  to  the  gentry  of  the 
land.  That  the  first  Atherton  in  the  colony  had  enjoyed  among 
his  fellow-settlers  the  exclusive  title  of  Mister,  that  they  had 
given  a  President  to  Congress,  G-overnors  to  States,  Judges  to  the 
Supreme  Bench,  Generals  to  the  army  of  the  Revolution,  and, 
brightest  distinction  of  all,  a  "  Signer"  to  the  Declaration,  was 
nothing  in  comparison  to  the  number  of  devout  and  learned  min- 
isters they  had  produced,  and  to  the  fact,  often  mentioned  in  their 
annals,  that  the  blood  of  an  early  apostle  to  the  Indians  flowed  in 
their  veins.  In  addition  to  these  glories  in  its  spiritual  escutcheon, 
the  family  was  always  conspicuous  for  the  piety  of  many  of  its  fe- 
male members  :  more  than  one  volume  of  "  Memoirs,"  illustrating 
the  remarkable  Christian  graces  of  some  daughter  of  their  house, 
gone  to  the  grave  in  her  virgin  bloom,  perhaps  in  a  holy  childhood, 
or  of  some  lovely  matron — the  scion  of  another  tree  transplanted 
into  the  Atherton  inclosure — who,  if  she  had  not  drawn  her  blood 
from  them,  had  infused  into  them  of  her  own,  enriched  the  hagi- 
ography  of  New  England.  But  as  yet  the  name  had  produced  no 
female  missionaries,  and  the  missionary  character  was  separated 
from  every  other  to  a  New  England  apprehension,  as  if  its  posses- 
sors were  almost  of  a  different  species.    The  popular  idea  of  these 


44 


ALBAN. 


laborers  of  either  sex,  especially  when  their  self-devotion  had  been 
consecrated  by  a  premature  death,  approximated  to  that  of  the 
saints  among  Catholics. 

Rachel  made  a  visit  at  the  Castle,  and  staid  a  week.  She 
talked  of  her  missionary  project  the  whole  time,  and  appealed 
successfully  to  the  feelings  which  we  have  described,  the  more 
successfully,  because  unconsciously,  as  one  who  was  profoundly 
influenced  by  them  herself,  without  being  aware  of  it.  Old  Mrs. 
Atherton,  indeed,  was  entirely  deaf  to  all  that  her  granddaughter 
could  urge,  but  her  opposition  was  almost  passive,  or  at  least,  con- 
fined itself  to  sallies  of  witty  ridicule,  while  over  her  grandfather, 
who  was  fond  of  her,  Rachel  gained  a  complete  victory.  He  was 
very  assailable  by  the  idea  that  he  might  be  suffering  considera- 
tions of  his  own  temporal  comfort  to  stand  in  the  way  of  the  eter- 
nal welfare  of  his  benighted  fellow-creatures.  Mrs.  Atherton's 
old-fashioned  high  churchmanship,  associated,  as  it  was,  with  a 
scarcely  concealed  Toryism  in  politics,  rendered  her  influence  in 
the  family,  on  a  religious  question,  nihil.  Rachel  quite  plainly 
intimated  that  grandma's  indifierence  was  akin  to  that  of  Gallio. 
Even  Betsey  feared  it  was  a  proof  that  her  mother  had  not  expe- 
rienced a  vital  change  of  heart.  It  was  out  of  the  question,  how- 
ever, she  said,  for  he?'  to  take  part  in  the  new  enterprise,  as  long  as 
Alby  remained  under  her  care.  It  would  be  betraying  a  trust  to 
quit  him  in  order  to  teach  Indians.  But  she  promised  that  in  the 
autumn,  when  he  returned  to  his  parents  for  the  six  months,  she 
would  allow  Jane  Mansfield  to  take  her  place  on  the  alternate 
weeks  at  the  Castle,  and  become  Rachel's  co-laborer  at  Mohegan. 

Jane  Mansfield  was  the  hoyden  of  sixteen  introduced  to  the 
reader  on  the  Sunday  evening  described  in  the  third  chapter  of 
this  book.  She  was  the  granddaughter  of  General  Atherton,  of 
course,  and  their  almost  daily  visitor,  but  to  consent  to  her  being 
substituted  for  his  daughter  was  no  doubt  a  great  sacrifice  to  the 
claims  of  Christian  charity.  A  more  serious  one  was  in  store  for 
General  Atherton.  It  often  happens  that  when  good  men  make 
a  formal  resignation  of  any  possession  to  God,  scarce  expecting, 


ALBAN . 


45 


perhaps,  to  be  called  upon  to  make  it  actual,  he  takes  them  at 
their  word. 

The  autumn  came,  September  blowing  eastern  ofales,  and 
October  breathing  southern  airs.  The  parents  of  our  little  hero 
came  on  to  Yanmouth  with  their  younger  children,  to  spend  a 
fortnight  and  keep  Thanksgiving.  There  was  a  round  of 
dinners  and  teas  in  the  ancient  town,  and  the  mutual  hospitali- 
ties extended  even  to  Yantic  Falls.  "  Woe  worth  the  day"  to  the 
turkeys,  as  the  first  Thursday  in  November  approached.  Gen- 
eral Atherton  entertained  at  dinner  at  least  twenty  of  his  rela- 
tives, chiefly  his  children  and  grown-up  grandchildren,  besides 
as  many  more  juveniles.  The  principal  table  was  spread  in  the 
great  parlor ;  the  children  feasted  in  the  smaller  ordinary 
dining-room.  The  E-t.  Rev.  Dr  Richard  Gray,  Mrs.  Atherton's 
brother,  an  "  Episcopal  bishop,"  (as  the  Yanmouth  people  pleo- 
nastically  termed  him,)  said  grace  before,  and  the  Rev.  David 
Atherton  Devotion,  the  new  pastor  of  the  Yanmouth  Congrega- 
tional church,  made  a  long  prayer,  by  way  of  grace,  after  dinner ; 
almost  as  long  as  that  with  which  he  had  opened  the  morning 
service.  Some  of  the  guests,  females  of  course,  who  had  never 
seen  a  bishop  before,  except  at  confirmation,  wondered  that 
Dr.  Gray  did  not  wear  his  robes  on  this  occasion.  Dr.  Gray 
and  Mr.  Devotion  were  extremely  cordial,  though  the  bishop 
thought  the  minister  unordained,  and  the  minister  returned  the 
comphment  by  thinking  the  prelate  unconverted.  Both  did 
justice  to  their  hosts  Thanksgiving  cheer,  and  (especially  the 
bishop)  to  his  fine  old  wines.  With  what  consummate  grace  old 
Mrs.  Atherton  presided  !  how  well,  apropos  to  some  obsolete 
plate,  she  told  (for  the  hundredth  time  at  least)  the  story  of  her 
entertaining  the  Due  de  Lauzun,  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette,  and 
half  a  dozen  more  French  officers  of  rank,  at  a  dinner,  "  not 
nearly  so  good  as  this,  you  must  know,"  at  Yantic  Falls,  in  the 
Revolutionary  war  !  With  what  an  air  of  unaffected  pity  for 
the  present  generation,  she  declared  that  the  Due  was  "truly"  a 
gentleman,  and  with  what  a  gracious  mixture  of  sadness  and 


46  A  L  B  A  N  . 

sense  of  the  historical  dignity  of  the  event  she  alkided  to  his 
subsequent  fate.  "  You  know,"  she  said,  (every  body  knew  it,) 
"he  was  guillotined  in  that  terrible  French  Revolution." 

They  observed  early  hours  in  those  days.  Dinner,  even  on 
Thanksgiving  day,  was  served  at  two  o'clock,  p.  m.,  and  at  half- 
past  six,  "  the  drawing-room"  (opened  only  on  such  occasions) 
was  already  lighted  up  lor  the  evening  party  that  followed. 
This  apartment,  so  famous  in  Yanmouth,  was  adorned  with  a 
cream-colored  carpet  of  roses,  in  a  single  piece,  and  high-backed 
chairs,  gorgeously  worked  on  yellow  satin,  by  the  hands  of 
patient  female  Athertons.  But  it  could  not  suffice  that  evening 
for  the  company  which  overflowed  into  all  the  apartments  of  the 
floor;  even  the  sacred  recesses  of  "  the  bedroom,"  converted  into 
a  depository  for  gentlemen's  hats  and  overcoats,  admitted  parties 
of  both  sexes,  seeking  rest  after  dancing.  For  they  still  danced 
in  New  England,  even  in  pious  families,  although  the  line 
was  already  beginning  to  be  more  strictly  drawn.  But  the 
voluptuous  dances  of  Germany  and  Russia  had  not  yet  obtained 
a  footing  in  the  new  world.  Cotillions  and  country  dances  suffi- 
ciently interested  the  youth  and  the  youthful  beauty  at  General 
Atherton's  ;  besides  that,  two  ladies  of  the  old  school,  in  matronly 
brocades,  performed  a  minuet. 

The  week  after  these  festivities  Betsey  Atherton  commenced 
her  missionary  labors.  On  one  Saturday  evening  Rachel  came 
to  Mohegan-town  from  the  Falls ;  on  the  next,  her  aunt  ar- 
rived from  Yanmouth  to  take  her  place  ;  and  thus  through  the 
winter  they  alternated,  regardless  of  weather,  of  the  discomforts 
of  their  temporary  abode,  of  the  solitude  of  their  work.  Fre- 
quently, they  both  went  and  returned  from  their  mission  on  foot. 
Coarse  was  their  diet ;  hard  their  couch ;  comfortless  their  crowd- 
ed school-room ;  tedious  their  task  of  instruction,  with  pupils 
who  had  the  primary  habits  of  attention  to  acquire,  as  well  as  the 
simplest  elements  of  knowledge.  They  were  cheered  by  each 
other's  presence  even  only  for  an  hour  or  two  on  the  Saturday, — 
hours  which  they  sanctified  by  devoting  them  to  united  prayer  for 


ALBAN. 


47 


the  objects  of  the  mission.  They  then  held  a  female  prayer-meet- 
ing for  the  squaws,  of  about  a  half-hour's  duration,  begun  and 
closed  with  a  hymn  sung  by  their  own  sweet  voices  only  ;  then 
fervently  embraced,  and  parted  for  another  week. 

The  solicitudes  of  Rachel  Atherton  were  not  limited  to  pro- 
curing for  the  neglected  people  she  had  undertaken  to  Christianize, 
merely  such  religious  and  temporal  instruction  as  two  young 
ladies  could  bestow  ;  she  would  not  be  satisfied  with  any  thing 
short  of  seeing  the  Mohegans  converted  into  a  community  of  Con- 
gregationalists,  with  a  church  and  settled  pastor  of  their  own,  a 
permanent  school,  and  all  the  elements  of  New  England  civiliza- 
tion. To  realize  these  objects,  she  resolved  to  apply  at  once  to  the 
government  of  the  United  States.  She  boldly  wrote  in  her  own 
name  to  the  Secretary  of  War,  to  whose  bureau  all  Indian  affairs 
belong,  to  advocate  the  claims  of  her  protegees.  A  nephew  of 
General  Atherton,  and  of  course  the  cousin  of  Rachel  and  Eliza- 
beth, had  a  seat  in  the  Federal  Senate.  She  obtained  his  support 
without  difficulty  ;  and  a  petition  which  the  secretary  might  have 
found  reasons  for  evading  if  it  had  been  urged  in  any  other  way, 
became  irresistible  when  it  was  advanced  in  the  name  of  two 
young  ladies,  who  had  first  devoted  themselves  with  so  much  self- 
denial  to  the  cause  which  they  advocated.  A  sum  was  granted 
from  the  Indian  appropriation  to  build  a  meeting-house  and  par- 
sonage, and  support  a  minister  among  the  remnant  of  the  Mohe- 
gans. In  the  spring,  with  the  rains  that  softened  the  frozen  soil 
of  the  Yantic  valley,  a  shower  (as  Rachel  and  Betsey  believed) 
of  divine  grace  descended  to  soften  the  colder  hearts  of  the  half- 
savage  inhabitants  of  the  Indian  village.  Several  adults  of  both 
sexes  gave,  in  the  language  of  the  country  and  the  time,  "  no 
equivocal  tokens  of  being  the  subjects  of  a  gracious  work,"  and 
when  thorough  examination  by  the  church  at  the  Falls  had  suffi- 
ciently proved  this,  as  was  thought,  they  were  baptized. 

Such  a  work  as  this  could  not  be  carried  on  in  secret.  The 
enterprise  of  the  Misses  Atherton  became  a  topic  of  conversation 
in  all  the  religious  circles  of  New  England  ;  its  success  was 


48 


ALBAN . 


prayed  for  in  monthly  concerts  ;  sympathizers  in  remote  towns 
sent  contributions  of  money,  books,  and  clothing,  in  aid  of  the 
interesting  and  successful  mission.  The  youth  and  personal  love- 
liness of  the  missionaries  could  not  but  transpire.  Unmarried 
ministers  felt  their  interest  peculiarly  excited  ;  and  some  of  these 
were  in  a  position  to  allow  of  their  manifesting  it. 

The  Rev.  President  Hopewell  was  a  distinguished  preacher 
and  divine,  whose  reputation  at  the  age  of  thirty  had  placed  him 
at  the  head  of  a  rising  Xew  England  college.  He  was  in  search, 
of  a  wife,  and  he  came  to  Yantic  Falls  to  apply  for  the  hand  of 
Rachel  Atherton,  although  he  had  never  seen  her.  He  was 
handsome,  intellectual,  self-confident,  a  man  much  coveted  ;  he 
made  his  advances  with  graceful  skill.  But  Rachel  was  far  above 
being  thus  diverted  from  her  work.  She  thanked  him  with  en- 
chanting expressions  of  sj^mpathy,  and  recommended  him  to  try 
a  friend  of  hers  who  had  leisure  to  be  married  and  who  was  far 
more  titted  than  herself  to  adorn  the  station  he  ofiered.  Before 
taking  this  advice  the  President  went  down  to  Yaumouth  to  see 
Elizabeth.  Betsey  Atherton  was  withheld  by  no  such  lofty 
notions  as  those  which  influenced  her  friend  in  the  rejection  of 
every  kind  of  matrimonial  project  ;  but  Betsey  Atherton  had, 
what  even  Rachel  had  not — a  purely  virgin  soul,  to  which  not 
this  or  that  wedlock,  but  marriage  itself,  was  a  thing  to  recoil 
from.  It  was  not  that  she  lacked  the  tender  instincts  of  her  sex, 
as  we  have  seen  in  the  case  of  Lieutenant  Harvey.  She  was 
proud,  not  cold  ;  delicate  in  her  thoughts,  and  therefore  exacting 
in  her  ideal.  She  would  have  been  perfect,  if  in  the  way  she 
had  been  brought  up  she  could  have  apprehended  the  living  object 
which  alone  can  absorb  the  heart  ^sithout  defiling  it, — of  which 
she  could  have  said,  Queni  cum  amave^'O,  casta  sum  ;  cum  teti- 
gero,  munda  mm;  cum  accipero,  virgo  sum  . 

Betsey  Atherton  was  one  of  those,  who,  as  the  proverb  is,  are 
"not  long  for  this  world."  She  caught  cold  in  her  visits  to 
Mohegan-town.  The  school-room  was  cranny  some,  and  full  of 
draughts.    In  the  spring  she  had  a  cough — fatal  sign  on  the 


ALBAN. 


49 


New  England  coast.  Our  young  Alban  was  with  his  aunt  again 
in  the  summer,  at  her  urgent  wish,  though  she  was  already 
marked  visibly  for  the  grave.  She  had  one  of  those  beautiful, 
rapid  declines  of  which  we  mostly  read  in  books.  After  the  first 
shock  of  learning  her  danger,  she  neither  hoped  to  recover,  as 
most  do,  nor  feared  to  die.  Her  frame  of  mind  was  even  sweeter 
as  her  disease  advanced,  and  her  death  was  triumphant.  Its 
effect  upon  our  Alban's  story  is  what  we  have  here  to  note.  For 
General  Atherton  did  not  long  survive  his  daughter's  ]oss  ;  the 
Mansfields  moved  into  the  Castle,  now  become  old  Mrs.  Atherton's 
house  ;  and  it  ceased  to  be  one  of  our  hero's  homes.  We  must 
follow  him  to  another. 

5 


BOOK  11. 

Irljnnl;  nr^     fommut   €^t  Inn  Ss^tinilnte, 


CHAPTER  I. 

It  came  about  the  time  of  the  great  September  gale,  and  was 
very  like  one  in  its  efiects.  As  sometimes  it  is  one  of  the 
mightiest  trees  that  is  uprooted  by  a  hurricane,  so  often  it  is  a 
colossal  fortune  that  is  prostrated  by  a  crisis.  Ever  since  the 
unexpected  peace  had  toppled  down  half  the  commercial  houses 
in  the  Uuited  States,  Samuel  Atherton  had  been  gallantly  fight- 
ing for  his  credit.  Knowing  himself  to  be  solvent,'  it  was  hard 
to  strike  under  a  sudden  broadside  from  an  unexpected  enemy. 
The  treason  of  a  confidential  agent,  whom  he  had  just  made  his 
partner,  and  who  absconded  after  using  his  name  to  a  fearful 
extent  to  cover  his  own  private  losses  at  the  gaming-table,  was 
the  immediate  cause  of  Mr.  Atherton's  stopping  payment.  We 
may  as  well  say  at  once  that  he  ultimately  paid  every  thing,  but 
for  the  time  all  was  lost.  He  saved  nothing  for  himself  Even 
his  wife's  fortune,  just  paid  by  her  father's  executors,  was 
swept  into  the  vortex.  Plate,  library,  pictures,  carriage,  of  course, 
went  under  the  hammer,  and  from  the  fine  mansion  in  State- 
street,  hitherto  so  hospitable  in  the  Avorst  of  limes,  the  family 
were  forced  to  remove  into  a  small  house  in  the  jail  liberties,  to 
avoid  at  least  a  prison  ;  and  from  that  safe  point  Mr.  Atherton 
began  as  a  poor  man  to  reconstruct  his  fortunes. 


ALB AN . 


51 


The  aspect  of  New  York  at  that  time  was  very  difTerent 
from  that  which  the  city  exhibits  at  present.  The  neighborhood 
of  the  Battery  (then  a  safe  and  dehghtful  play-ground  for 
children)  was  the  aristocratic  quarter  of  the  town,  occupied  by 
large  and  well-built  mansions,  and  distinguished  by  its  air  of 
seclusion.  In  Whitehall,  where  now  a  dozen  omnibuses  at  once 
are  thundering  at  every  instant  down  to  the  South  Ferry,  over  a 
pavement  shattered  and  gullied  by  their  incessant  wheels,  the 
grass  then  grew  in  the  middle  of  the  street.  Wall,  William, 
Beaver,  Broad,  and  the  contiguous  streets,  were  full  of  little  old 
Dutch  houses,  with  high  gables,  rising  in  narrow  steps  to  their 
apex.  There  were  no  palaces  then  on  the  yet  unknown  Fifth 
Avenue,  rivalling  those  of  the  merchant  aristocracies  of  Italy  ; 
Mr.  Upjohn  had  not  thickly  sprinkled  the  city  (the  half  of 
which  did  not  exist)  with  those  churches  of  brown  stone,  so 
beautiful  in  detail,  of  which  the  material  will  always  excuse  the 
architectural  defects.  Mr.  Atherton,  then,  attended  pubhc  wor- 
ship in  Wall-street,  in  the  First  Presbyterian  church,  which  the 
rising  generation  will  know  nothing  of,  though  it  has  not  ceased  to 
exist,  having  been  transported  like  Aladdin's  palace,  as  it  were, 
without  displacing  a  stone,  into  New  Jersey.  On  Christmas, 
which  Presbyterians  then  did  not  observe,  the  children  were 
taken  by  their  nursery-maid  to  old  Trinity,  to  see  "  the  greens," 
enjoy  the  mysterious  music  of  the  organ,  (equally  unknown  as  yet 
to  Puritan  assemblies,)  and  wonder  at  the  under-ground  murmur 
of  the  responses,  at  the  minister's  "white  gown,"  and  the  strange 
and  almost  awful  change  to  black  which  preceded  the  sermon. 
In  those  days  the  reality  of  Santa  Glaus  was  unsuspected,  and 
Alban  with  his  brothers  suspended  their  stockings  over  the 
chimney-piece  on  Christmas  eve,  earnestly  begging  that  a  candle 
might  be  left  burning,  whereby  the  good-natured  visitant,  the 
lover  of  children,  when  he  descended  the  chimney  with  his 
reindeer-sledge,  might  not  fail  to  peruse  the  certificates  of  good 
conduct  carefully  pinned  to  the  carved  wooden  mantels. 

Poetical  elements  mingled  in  the  existence  of  the  young  Knick- 


52 


ALBAN . 


erbockers  in  those  days  of  which  our  vulgar  modern  New  Yorkers 
know  nothing.  What  a  glorious  region  for  Alban  and  his  set 
was  the  district  of  rocky  heights  and  wild  ponds  within  a  boy's 
afternoon  walk  of  the  City  Hall  I  What  kite-flying  in  spring  on 
the  former  I  what  rare  skating  in  winter  on  the  latter  I  How 
the  clear  ice-tracts  embraced  the  snowy  islets,  and  formed  endless 
labyrinths  among  the  thick,  leafless  marsh  bushes,  where  it 
was  a  pleasure  to  be  lost  I  What  a  place  for  fun  and  fear  was  the 
City  Hall  itself,  with  its  long  vaulted  corridors,  its  mysterious  lob- 
bies, dark  basement  cells,  its  marble  staircases,  echoing  dome,  its 
gallery  and  terrace.  Every  Saturday  afternoon  they  played  in  it, 
ignorant  as  it  was  of  the  blackguards  and  loafers  who  now  loiter 
about  the  Park,  and  fearhig  only  lest  "  Old  Hays"  should  seize 
them  for  climbing  too  adventurously  along  the  perilous  basement 
ledge  under  the  windows  of  the  public  oflices,  or  for  trampling 
down  the  grass  of  the  Park,  by  "  double  base,"  or  "  every  man  to 
his  own  den." 

"  The  army,"  said  Uncle  Toby,  "  swore  terribly  in  Flanders," 
School-boys  swore  terribly  in  New  York  in  the  days  of  which  we 
speak,  and  they  did  not  limit  themselves  to  swearing,  A  language 
even  worse  than  profane  was  but  too  frequently  on  their  lips. 
The  ears  of  our  Alban,  at  this  period  of  his  life,  became  familiar 
with  a  phraseology  to  which  at  Yanmouth  he  had  certainly  never 
been  accustomed.  At  first  it  shocked,  then  it  amused  him  ;  by 
and  by  he  took  a  certain  pleasure  in  hearing  and  repeating  it ; 
(we  are  sorry  to  record  these  infirmities,  but  historic  truth  obliges 
us  ;)  and  although  a  sense  of  delicacy  in  part,  and  in  part  an  honest 
fear  of  being  wicked,  withheld  him  from  both  profanity  and  coarse- 
ness de  j^roprio  motu,  yet  we  fear  that  he  was  often  ashamed  of 
his  own  timidity.  There  was  one  peculiarity  of  his  position  at  this 
time  which  deserves  to  be  noticed,  Alban  had  no  sisters,  and 
from  the  retirement  in  which  his  parents  hved  he  could  not  boast 
so  much  as  the  acquaintance  of  any  young  persons  of  his  own  age, 
but  of  an  opposite  sex.  His  school  intimates  were  boys  either  sis- 
terless  like  himself,  or  whose  sisters  had  grown  up,  or  at  whose 


ALB AN. 


53 


homes  he  was  not  allowed  to  visit.  He  had  the  sweet  recollection 
of  his  aunt,  and  he  knew  the  reserved  tenderness  of  his  mother ; 
but  apart  from  these  influences,  it  was  a  hard,  a  boisterous,  and  a 
far  from  refined  society  in  which  he  lived.  Yet  all  agreed  that 
Alb  Atherton,  though  foremost  in  sports,  for  innocence  of  manners 
and  sweetness  of  temper  was  the  girl  of  the  school.  And  he  was 
the  notorious  favorite  of  the  masters.  There  was  nothing  that  he 
could  not  learn,  and  he  got  on  so  rapidly  that  he  read  the  Eneid 
through  for  pleasure  while  his  class  were  working  at  the  first  book. 
The  mathematical  teacher  was  forced  to  give  him  recitations  apart, 
he  devoured  Euclid  with  such  impatience. 

Indeed,  our  young  hero  displayed  an  insatiable  appetite  for 
€very  species  of  knowledge.  On  the  heights  where  he  flew  his  kite, 
the  strata  of  which  the  fatal  process  of  grading  for  new-invading 
streets  had  already  laid  bare,  he  mineralized  in  his  small  way,  and 
his  spare  cash  (not  much  to  boast  of)  went  to  augment  his  speci- 
mens or  to  enrich  a  tiny  collection  of  shells  and  coins.  The  huge 
volumes  of  the  British  Encyclopedia  were  for  ever  littering  his 
mother's  sitting-room,  while  Alban,  as  far  as  he  could  without 
assistance,  patiently  mastered  its  elaborate  treatises,  which  he  could 
not  know  were,  in  the  march  of  science,  already  obsolete.  At  this 
time  the  Waverley  novels  were  issuing  from  the  press,  and  his 
father  got  them  from  the  libraries  as  they  appeared  ;  but  the  perusal 
of  Waverley,  when  he  was  about  nine  years  old,  so  excited  the 
boy's  imagination,  that  Mr.  Atherton  would  not  even  allow  his  son 
to  hear  another  of  the  series.  But  there  was  an  old  copy  of  the 
Arabian  Nights,  saved  with  the  Encyclopedia  from  the  sale  ;  and 
one  birthday,  his  father  gave  him  a  large  Pictorial  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress : — at  twelve,  Alban  knew  these  and  Shakspeare  almost  by 
heart. 

"  This  boy  has  no  moderation  in  any  thing,"  said  his  father  ; 
"  he  tires  himself  to  pieces  with  playing  in  the  streets,  and  then  he 
buries  himself  in  a  corner  with  a  book  till  he  is  almost  blind." 

"  I  wish  Alban  would  not  play  in  the  street  at  all,"  said  his 
mother,  "or  at  least  that  he  would  keep  in  sight  of  the  house, 

6" 


54 


ALB AN . 


Grey-street  is  quiet,  (for  it  is  not  a  thoroughfare,)  and  it  is  almost 
as  clean  as  our  own  yard.  I  should  think  it  would  be  a  great  deal 
better  for  any  plays  than  Hudson  or  Greenwich,  or  that  odious 
Park." 

"You  can't  keep  such  a  boy  in  bounds,  in  a  city  like  New 
York." 

**  That  is  what  I  am  afraid  of,"  replied  his  mother,  "that  he 
cannot  be  kept  in  bounds.  I  don't  like  all  his  associates.  And 
he  is  getting  into  bad  habits  already — "  ("  Bad  habits  I"  ejaculated 
Mr.  Atherton) — "  why  only  last  night  he  and  Bob  Simmons  were 
out  till  nine  o'clock,  double  knocking  at  all  the  doors,  and  ringing 
all  the  bells  for  a  dozen  squares." 

"  What,  Alban  I"  exclaimed  Mr.  Atherton,  with  a  hearty 
laugh. 

"  Certainly  ;  they  call  it  playing  the  Old  Harry  I  Bob  wanted 
to  break  a  pane  of  glass  in  every  house,  but  Alb  would  not  consent. 
Robert  Simmons  is  a  very  bad  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Atherton  emphati- 
cally.   Mr.  Atherton  laughed  again. 

"  The  Simmonses  are  our  next-door  neighbors,  you  know,  my 
dear,  so  that  Alban  would  not  avoid  Bob,  even  if  he  never  stirred 
out  of  Grey-street,  ]\Ir.  Simmons  is  alderman  of  the  ward,  and 
a  member  of  the  church  ;  and  he  is  rich.  You  can't  forbid  our 
son  associating  with  his.    Boys  must  take  their  chance." 

"  I  believe  that  a  city  is  a  bad  place  for  the  education  of  boys," 
replied  Mrs.  Atherton.  "  See  the  young  Mortons.  If  Albaa 
should  turn  out  dissipated  like  one  of  them,  it  would  break  my 
heart." 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  send  him  away  to  school  ?"  asked 
her  husband. 

"  If  poor  Elizabeth  had  lived,  he  might  have  fitted  for  college 
at  Yanmouth,"  was  Mrs.  Atherton's  indirect  reply.  "As  it  is,  I 
don't  know  where  I  could  be  willing  to  send  him,  unless  to  your 
Sister  Fanny's,  at  Babylon." 

Our  hero  was  destined  to  owe  a  great  deal  to  maiden  aunts. 
The  virgin  sister  of  his  mother  had  watched  over  his  childhood ; 


ALB AN . 


55 


the  virgin  sister  of  his  father  was  to  preside  over  his  incipient 
manhood  ;  for  it  is  somewhere,  we  think,  from  twelve  to  sixteen, 
that  young  Americans  begin  to  be  men.  Aunt  Fanny  hved  in  her 
own  house  at  Babylon,  which  was  a  small  country  village  in  the 
green  heart  of  the  State  of  New  York,  She  had  brought  up  al- 
ready one  generation  of  young  Athertons,  motherless  cousins  of 
Alban,  and  was  now  trying  her  hand  on  another — her  great 
nephews  and  nieces — with  whom,  in  point  of  age,  our  hero  might 
be  classed.  Aunt  Fanny  had  a  very  poor  opinion  of  Mrs.  Samuel 
Atherton's  domestic  management,  and  had  been  anxious  for  a  long 
time  to  extend  to  the  latter's  children  the  benefits  of  her  own  ex- 
perience. To  send  Alban  thither,  to  finish  his  preparation  for  col- 
lege, was  therefore  an  eligible  plan,  and  to  execute  as  easy  as 
talking. 

Babylon,  an  ancient  colonial  fort  of  great  fame  in  the  early 
Indian  wars,  had  been  effectively  settled  soon  after  the  Revolution 
by  the  paternal  uncles  of  our  hero,  who  had  migrated  thither 
from  Yantic  with  their  flocks  and  herds,  or,  in  plain  English, 
with  the  proceeds  of  their  patrimony  converted  into  continental 
currency.  The  rich  farms  of  the  vast  township  belonged  chiefly 
to  them,  and  from  one  of  them,  in  solemn  but  characteristic  jest, 
it  had  received  its  ridiculous  name.  The  village  boasted  a  select 
school  of  high  provincial  repute,  founded  under  their  patronage 
and  chiefly  sustained  by  their  liberality. 


ALBAN, 


CHAPTER  II. 

**  He  is  a  fool,"  said  young  Alban. 

The  blank  was  filled  up  at  the  time  by  a  profane  expletive, 
with  which  we  would  not  willingly  sully  our  pages. 

The  first  oath  I  It  was  the  first,  and  Alban  had  not  uttered  it 
in  a  rage,  but  with  cool  premeditation.  He  did  it  to  seem  manly. 
It  was  for  the  same  reason  that  he  had  tried  to  smoke  cigars,  un- 
successfully, for  his  cerebral  temperament  "was  absolutely  intoler- 
ant of  the  narcotic.    "  He  is  a  fool."    The  expression  was 

neither  scholarly,  nor  gentlemanlike,  nor  Christian,  nor  even 
intelligible,  and  Alban  thought  of  it  a  good  deal  that  night  in  bed, 
before  falling  asleep. 

The  day  following  Alban  swore  again,  not  faintly  as  at  first, 
but  ore  rotundu,  and  that  two  or  three  times.  He  is  getting  on. 
But  it  was  that  evening  that  he  learned  from  his  father  that  he 
was  going  to  Babylon  to  school. 

"  I  have  begmi  to  swear  just  at  the  wrong  time,"  said  Alban 

to  himself    "  That  last    to-day  really  came  out  without 

thinking  ;  what  if  I  should  get  into  a  habit  of  it  before  I  go  to 
Babylon.  They  are  all  so  very  religious  at  Babylon.  There  has 
been  a  great  revival,  and  I  don't  know  how  many  have  joined 
the  church.  My  cousin  Henry  is  a  convert,  and  George  St.  Clair 
— the  only  fellows  there  that  I  do  care  about.  George  has  written 
me  a  long  letter  about  religion,  and  saving  my  soul.  What  will 
they  think  of  my  swearing  ?  I  must  certainly  break  myself  of  it 
at  once.  Certainly  the  habit  of  swearing  is  a  dreadful  thing. 
Every  body  says  so.  People  have  been  struck  dead  for  swearing. 
"What  would  Aunt  Betsey  say  to  my  using  such  expressions  ! 
Perhaps  she  saw  and  heard  me  at  that  moment.  God  saw  me  at 
any  rate,  and  heard  me  too.  I  believe  I  have  been  very  wicked', 
and  very  silly.    Oh,  our  Father  in  heaven  I"  he  concluded  with 


ALB AN. 


himself,  "  help  me  not  to  swear  any  more,  and  give  me  a  new 
heart,  so  that  I  may  not  wish  to  swear." 

Alban  prayed  to  this  effect  very  earnestly.  The  prime  and 
moving  reason  doubtless  was  the  fear  of  disgracing  himself  in  the 
sanctified  public  opinion  of  young  Babylon,  which,  after  the  great 
revival,  must  be  so  very  different  from  that  of  young  New  York. 
But  this  primary  influence  of  human  origin  awakened  also  the 
slumbering  conscience,  smiting  it  internally  with  the  rod  of  the 
sudden  perception  of  the  Divine  Presence.  Under  this  impression 
he  wrote  a  very  pious  letter  in  reply  to  George  St.  Clair's,  a  letter 
which  filled  Babylon — young  and  old — with  rejoicing,  and  which 
caused  Alban,  when  about  a  month  after  he  arrived  there,  to  be 
greeted  universally  as  a  "  young  convert."  Wicked  boy  I  little 
hypocrite  I  not  for  resolving,  although  from  motives  partly  human, 
to  avoid  profane  language  ;  not  for  resolving  to  be  as  good  as 
possible  in  future  ;  in  both  which  he  was  of  course  right  : — but 
for  allowing  himself  to  pass  as  one  mysteriously  sanctified,  in  a 
society  where  the  notion  of  such  a  supernatural  change  was 
current. 

The  greatest  difficulty  in  going  to  Babylon  was  the  physical 
one  of  the  journey  ;  not  a  serious  one  by  any  means,  but  neither 
so  short  nor  so  easy  as  at  present.  Our  little  hero  embarked  at 
New  York  on  a  steamboat,  at  nine  o'clock  one  fine  May  morning, 
under  the  protection  of  a  Babylonish  uncle.  It  was  thought  to 
have  been  a  good  passage  when  they  disembarked  at  Albany  at 
three  p.  m.  of  the  day  following.  The  next  day  conveyed  them  by 
stage  up  the  wild  Mohawk  valley.  It  was  only  on  reaching  the 
central  table-land  of  the  State,  that  a  canal-boat  offered  to  Alban 
the  delight  of  a  yet  untried  mode  of  travel.  It  was  at  noon  of 
the  fourth  day  that  they  arrived  at  Babylon. 

Alban  forthwith  received  a  class  of  very  little  boys  in  the 
Babylon  Sunday-school  ;  he  was  invited  to  attend  the  "  young 
converts'  prayer-meeting,"  composed  of  about  a  dozen  boys  of 
from  twelve  to  sixteen  years,  all  "  hopefully  pious,"  and  all  (but 
himself)  already  "  church  members  ;"  and  Mr.  Jeremiah  Cant- 


58 


ALBAN . 


well,  a  candidate  for  the  ministry,  and  beneficiaiy  of  the  Ladies' 
Benevolent  Sewing  Society,  which  had  called  him  from  the  oc- 
cupation of  a  journeyman  hatter  to  pursue  his  studies  at  Babylon 
school,  and  who  presided  at  the  aforesaid  young  converts'  prayer- 
meeting,  called  upon  Alban  the  very  first  night  to  "  lead  in 
prayer." 

Tremendous  moment  I  our  hero  would  have  given  w^orlds  to 
decline  ;  but  before  he  could  utter  a  syllable  the  whole  meeting 
was  on  its  knees,  each  young  convert  with  his  face  buried  in  his 
hands,  and  his  elbows  supported  on  his  chair.  There  was  a 
moment's  dead  silence,  and  Alban,  desperate,  plunged  in  medias 
res.  His  quick  perception  took  in  at  once  the  situation  with  all  its 
proprieties,  and  if  from  the  utter  want  of  experience  his  prayer 
was  somewhat  unique  in  Babylon,  it  was  not  on  that  account  less 
refreshing.  He  warmed  as  he  got  on.  He  had  in  fact  opened  a 
new  vein.  Recollections  of  his  maternal  grandfather's  daily 
fervent  appeals  to  Heaven  shot  like  lightning  through  his  mind — 
a  torrent  of  devotional  eloquence  flowed  forth. 

"  What  a  prayer  you  made,  Alban  I"  said  his  cousin  Henry, 
as  they  walked  home  arm  in  arm.  "  We  had  no  idea  of  your 
having  such  a  gift." 

Aunt  Fanny's  cottage  was  an  irregular,  rambling  structure, 
the  several  members  of  which  had  been  erected  at  different 
times,  as  convenience  or  necessity  required.  It  was  of  wood, 
and  painted  white,  of  course,  and  stood  on  the  skirts  of  the 
village,  in  the  centre  of  an  ample  garden,  orchard,  and  green 
shrubbery  tastefully  laid  out.  The  moon  shone  bright  on  the 
gravelled  walks  as  the  young  cousins  flung  behind  them  the 
swinging  gate  ;  and  before  they  reached  the  open  front  door, 
a  little  girl  in  a  white  frock  came  out  upon  the  steps  to  meet 
them, 

*'  Have  you  had  a  good  meeting?"  she  asked. 
"  Very  interesting,"  said  Henry  Atherton. 
The  child  took  the  answerer  a  little  apart  from  Alban,  and 
whispered  in  his  ear.    Henry  replied  in  the  same  tone. 


ALBAN. 


59 


"  No  secrets,"  said  Alban,  rather  awkwardly,  for  he  suspected 
the  subject  of  the  conference. 

"  Oh,  it  is  no  secret,"  said  the  young  girl,  putting  her  hand  in 
his.  "  Come,  let  us  all  sit  down  on  the  sill.  There  I  you,  Henry, 
on  this  side,  and  Alban  on  the  other,  me  between  you.  There  is 
just  room  for  us  three." 

They  did  so.  She  was  a  pretty  little  creature,  nearly  of 
Alban's  age  ;  with  large  blue  eyes,  the  most  dazzling  skin,  and 
long  flaxen  ringlets,  flowing  nearly  to  her  waist.  She  put  one 
of  her  Avhite  bare  arms  round  Henry  Atherton's  neck,  but  she  only 
looked  affectionately  from  time  to  time  at  Alban  as  he  sat  very, 
very  close  to  her  side  on  the  door-sill. 

Thus  we  may  leave  them  ;  Alban  being,  as  it  were,  in  a  new 
world. 


60 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  III. 

All  the  young  converts  at  Babylon  kept  journals.  Henry  Ather- 
ton  (lid  ;  Jane  did  ;  and  so  Alban  did.  Here  is  a  leaf  from 
Alban's.  It  will  give  us  a  notion  of  him  at  that  period  of  life. 
Some  of  it  is  spicy. 

Aug.  15."  (There  is  no  Anno  Domini,  but  he  is  thirteen 
and  a  half  years  old.)  "  I  have  been  now  three  months  at  B. 
When  I  first  arrived,  I  remember  being  puzzled  by  St.  Clair's 
asking  me  in  Sunday-school,  whether  I  had  yet  experienced  any 
decline  in  my  religion.  I  suppose  I  understand  now  what  he 
meant.  My  heart  is  very  cold,  and  I  certainly  no  longer  feel  the 
same  pleasure  in  prayer  that  I  used.  By  George's  asking  the 
question,  it  is  a  regular  thing,  I  take  it. 

"  Sept.  15.  Aunt  Fatuiy  entertained  me  to-day  with  an  ex- 
planation of  the  Book  of  Revelations,  which  she  understands,  as 
she  does  the  whole  Bible,  in  a  sense  quite  peculiar  to  herself. 
She  thinks  the  seven  Churches  of  Asia,  denote  the  seven  Chris- 
tian denominations  of  the  present  day,  viz.  :  the  Cathohc,  the 
Episcopalian,  the  Presbyterian,  the  Methodist,  the  Baptist,  the 
Congregationalist,  and  the  (ciuakers.  She  pretends  to  fix  each 
Church.  Thus  the  Laodiceans  are  the  Episcopal  Church,  because 
it  is  '  neither  cold  nor  hot ;'  the  (Quakers  are  the  '  Church  of  Phila- 
delphia,' of  course ;  the  Presbyterian,  (on  which  she  is  very 
severe,)  is  the  '  Church  at  Sardis,'  for  it  has  the  name  of  being 
alive,  and  is  dead,  yet  has  a  few  names  which  have  not  defiled 
their  garments.  The  Methodists  are  the  '  Church  of  Thyatira,' 
because  its  works  are  mentioned  twice,  showing  that  they  believe 
in  perfection.  The  Roman  Catholics  long  puzzled  her,  for 
the  description  of  each  of  the  Churches  seemed  to  suit  them 
exactly,  one  not  more  than  another  ;  but  at  last  she  concluded 
they  must  be  the  '  Church  at  Pergamos,'  because  '  it  dwells  whei'e 


ALBAN . 


61 


Satan's  seat  is.'  It  seems  to  me  there  is  a  good  deal  of  fancy  in 
this,  but  I  love  to  hear  her  talk.  There  is  a  new  servant — 
'  help,'  I  mean — come  to-day,  a  tall,  handsome  girl,  with  black 
eyes  :  I  must  find  out  if  she  is  a  Christian. 

"  Nov.  5.  I  am  afraid  that  Jane  is  going  back  as  w^ell  as  I. 
I  have  long  kept  np,  under  the  sense  of  my  own  declension, 
because  I  thought  she  would  not  fall  away.  A  girl — that  is, 
like  my  cousin  Jane — seems  so  pure  a  being.  I  can't  imagine 
her  having  one  of  the  thoughts  that  daily  come  into  my  mind. 
Then  she  never  hears  the  language  that  I  do.  To  be  sure,  I 
don't  associate  much  with  boys  of  my  own  age.  I  wonder  if 
girls  ever  use  bad  language  when  they  are  by  themselves. 

"  Nov.  10.  Jane  is  always  in  the  house  with  Polly  and  Maggie. 
They  are  very  good  servants,  but  not  fit  companions  for  a  young 
lady.  It  can't  be  well  helped  in  Maggie's  case,  for  they  are  of 
the  same  age.  Indeed,  till  Polly  came,  we  all  amused  ourselves 
together,  and  very  innocently.  Now  the  girls  keep  by  them- 
selves, and  I  cannot  help  suspecting  mischief.  If  so,  Polly,  with 
her  black  eyes  and  pouting  red  lips,  is  at  the  bottom  of  it.  She 
is  eighteen  years  old,  four  years  older  than  any  of  us,  and  she 
ought  to  know  better. 

"  Dec.  10.  Just  a  month  since  I  wrote  last.    It  was  the  very 

next  day  that   Jane  first  hinted   to  me  privately   that  Polly 

amused  them  when  they  were  alone  by  telling  them  ludicrous 

stories.    I  had  a  great  mind  to  tell  Aunt  Fanny  at  once,  but 

finally  concluded  to  tax  Polly  herself.    In  her  defence,  she  told 

me  one  of  the  stories,  at  which  I  could  not  help  laughing.  From 

that  it  has  gone  on,  till  we  have  come  to  listen  and  repeat, — 

all  of  us.    Even  Jane  will  repeat  the  '  funniest  things,'  as  Polly 

calls  them,  before  my  face,  without  a  blush.     We  spend  thus 

almost  every  one  of  the  long  evenings  in  that  great  kitchen, 

with  its  bright  floor  and  roaring  fire  of  logs.      It  is  a  curious 

thing  that  that  little  German,  Madeleine,  whom  aunt  employs  for 

charity,  and  who  cannot  speak  pure  English,  will  not  hear  a 

word  bordering  on  indelicacy.    At  the  first  hint,  she  sticks  her 

6 


62 


A  L  B  A  N  . 


fingers  in  her  ears,  and  runs  off.  She  puts  us  all  to  shame,  I 
must  say,  for  she  has  scarcelj^  clothes  to  her  back,  can  neither 
read  nor  write,  and  prays  to  the  Virgin  Mary,  I  believe,  every 
night  and  morning.  AYith  all  our  superior  light, — for  even  Maggie 
reads  her  Bible  daily, — we  are  not  so  good  as  this  ignorant  and 
superstitious  child. 

"  Dec.  20.  1  have  been  trying  to  convert  the  little  Madeleine. 
I  wanted  her  to  let  me  read  the  ten  commandments  to  her  out  of 
our  Bible,  that  she  might  see  the  wickedness  of  worshipping 
images,  but  she  would  not  listen,  any  more  than  to  Polly's  equivo- 
cal stories.  She  said  she  had  learned  the  ten  commandments  in 
her  catechism,  and  that  was  enough  for  her. 

"  'But,  Madeleine,'  said  I,  'your  priests  leave  out  one  of  the 
commandments.  I  only  want  to  read  you  that  one,  to  show 
you  what  a  sin  you  commit  in  worshipping  the  cross  and  the 
Virgin  Mary.' 

"  '  I  guess  there  is  one  of  the  commandments  left  out  by  your 
priest,  Mr.  Alban,'  replied  the  little  sauce-box,  '  or  else  you  don't 
tell  him  of  your  carryings  on  with  Polly  and  Miss  Jane,  when 
you  go  to  confession.' 

"  '  We  never  go  to  confession,  Madeleine,'  said  I,  rather  red,  I 
guess,  for  I  was  cut,  and  speaking  sharply  too, — '  that  is  one  of 
your  popish  corruptions.' 

"  '  Ah,  Mr.  Alban,'  she  said,  '  I  thought  you  didn't  go  to 
confession,  or  you  would  know  some  things  to  be  sins,  which  now, 
perhaps,  you  think  are  not,' 

"  '  And  why  do  you  pray  to  the  Virgin,  Madeleine,  instead  of 
to  God  ?'  She  was  cleaning  her  knives,  and  could  not  get  away, 
or  I  believe  she  would  have  run.  After  a  while,  as  I  persisted  in 
questioning  her,  she  answered,  very  pertinently,  I  must  admit,  '  I 
do  pray  to  God.' 

"  '  ^Yhy  then  do  you  pray  to  the  Virgin  too  ?  Do  you  thmk 
that  God  cannot  hear  you  ?  or  that  the  Virgin  is  more  willing  to 
answer  your  prayers  than  He  V 


ALB AN . 


63 


"  She  looked  puzzled,  and  only  after  some  time  answered,  in  the 
words  of  the  catechism,  doubtless, — 

"  '  The  Holy  Virgin  and  Saints,  hear  us  m  God,  and  God's 
charity  makes  them  ivilling  to  pray  for  us  I'  With  what  a  touch- 
ing foreign  accent  the  poor  girl  said  this.  It  is  no  answer,  of  course, 
yet  I  did  not  know  exactly  how  to  meet  it. 

"  Dec.  25.  Christmas,  and  no  dinner  !  My  father  always 
has  a  Christmas  dinner.  I  went  to  the  Episcopal  church  last 
evening,  for  the  first  time  in  Babylon,  although  it  is  directly 
opposite  aunt  Fanny's.  It  is  merely  a  long  room,  and  a  very 
low  ceiling ;  but  dressed  with  the  greens,  and  lighted  up,  it 
looked  really  beautiful.  The  pulpit  had  a  canopy,  like  a  crown, 
of  evergreen  mixed  with  white  artificial  roses.  The  roses  formed 
the  name  Immanuel.  The  pulpit,  too,  and  the  desk  under  it, 
(I  like  having  a  prayer-desk,)  were  a  mass  of  dark  foliage  ;  and 
the  communion  table,  which  is  not  bigger  than  aunt's  workstand, 
being  covered  with  white,  and  having  all  the  silver  vessels  on  it, 
was  a  kind  of  sparkling  centre  right  in  front  of  the  desk.  The 
rails  were  hung  with  heavy  festoons  of  spruce  boughs,  and  white 
drapery  to  match.  I  must  say  I  liked  it,  and  more  particularly 
that  reading  the  psalms  alternately  by  the  minister  and  the  people. 
Old  King  Nebuchadnezzar,  as  the  boys  call  him — the  church- 
warden, uncle  says  he  is — gave  me  a  prayer-book,  and  found  me 
the  places.  I  dare  say  he  was  pleased  to  see  one  of  the  Atherton 
boys  come  to  his  church,  I  was  almost  ashamed  to  join  in  the 
reading  at  first,  but  by  degrees  I  grew  accustomed  to  hear  my 
voice,  and,  '  responded'  as  they  call  it,  with  the  best  of  them. 

"Dec.  27.    Sunday.    I  have  been  to  the  Episcopal  church 

again  to-day,  with  B  ,  who  is  allowed  to  go  because  his  family 

are  Episcopalians.  Aunt  don't  like  it,  I  see,  but  she  says  nothing, 
except  that  the  Episcopal  Church  is  lukewarm,  like  that  of  Laodi- 
cea.  The  Episcopal  service  takes  hold  of  me  wonderfully.  It  is 
so  pleasant  to  have  something  to  do  in  church  besides  stand  up 
and  sit  down.  But  I  am  afraid  there  are  few  spiritual  Christians 
among  them.     I  call  to  mind  grandpa,  and  aunt  Betsey,  and 


64 


ALBAN. 


cousin  Hachel,  and  all  the  shining  Christians  I  have  ever  known. 
None  of  them  were  Episcopalians.  Our  cousins,  the  Greys,  in 
New  York,  are  of  this  Church,  but  they  do  not  seem  so  pious  and 
saint-like  as  my  mother,  who  is  a  Presbyterian.  And  1  perceive 
that  it  is  since  I  have  declined*  in  religion  that  I  feel  myself  so 
drawn  that  way.  "When  I  have  been  carrying  on,  as  Madeleine 
says,  with  Polly  and  Miss  Jane  by  the  kitchen  fire,  or  stealing  a 
kiss  from  the  latter  on  the  stairs,  as  she  is  creeping  up  to  bed  on 
Saturday  night,  all  dewy  with  the  recent  ablutions,  (sweet  child 
that  she  is  I)  though  I  know — at  least  I  believe — there  would  be 
nothing  wrong  in  the  last,  if  we  had  not  been  talking  so,  why, 
the  next  morning,  somehow,  I  ieel  as  if  I  wanted  to  go  to  the 
Episcopal  church.  The  Presbyterian  Church  is  for  saints,  but  the 
Episcopal  is  for  sinners. 

"  Dec.  31.  It  is  the  New  Year  to-morrow,  and  I  mean  to  turn 
over  a  new  leaf.    I  am  nearly  fourteen  years  old,  and  a  companion 

for  young  men  grown.    G  ,  R,  ,  W  ,  and  K  ,  are 

all  past  twenty,  yet  our  standing  in  the  school  is  the  same  ;  we 
are  fitting  for  the  same  class  in  college  ;  we  associate  on  equal 
terms.    I  beat  them  all  in  composition,  and  yield  to  none  of  them 

in  debate.     F          is  a  full-grown  man,  yet  I  believe  I  have 

more  influence  over  him  than  any  body  in  the  world.  Why,  then, 
for  very  shame,  do  I  not  control  myself,  and  refrain  from  doing 
what  I  know  I  shall  repent  of  when  it  is  done  ?  It  must  be  that 
I  am  not  a  real  Christian  :  I  have  never  been  truly  converted.  If 
there  is  a  revival  here  this  winter,  I  shall  give  up  my  hope,  as 
Jane  tells  me  she  has  already  given  up  hers,  and  try  for  another. 
Polly,  who  is  a  Methodist,  says  she  has  no  doubt  I  '  had  rehgion,* 
but  I  have  '  fallen  from  grace.'  Her  advice  is  to  enjoy  myself  now, 
not  to  lose  time,  but  to  attend  the  next  camp-meeting,  and  go  into 
the  'anxious  circle  ;' — perhaps  I  shall  get  religion  again  I" 

Here  occurs  a  long  hiatus  in  the  diary,  which  we  must  sup- 
ply. The  revival  which  Alban  looked  for  to  set  him  right  came 
that  very  winter.  First,  the  Methodists  held  a  camp-meeting  in 
the  wild  woods  near  Babylon.    The  Presbyterian- Congregation- 


•  ALBAN . 


65 


alists,  (for  they  had  a  compromise  of  the  two  systems  at  Babylon,) 
despised  this  movement  as  fanatical.  Alban  visited  the  camp 
witli  one  of  his  mature  school-friends,  and  they  both  agreed  to  call 
it  a  kind  of  spiritual  orgie.  But  the  ground-swell  of  the  commo- 
tion soon  communicated  itself  to  the  haughty  Presbyterians.  It 
was  ascertained  that  there  was  a  seriousness.  Prayer-meetings 
were  held  every  morning  before  light,  for  the  awakening  of  the 
Church.  A  renowned  revivalist  was  sent  for,  and  his  coming  was 
the  signal  for  deep  excitement.  Anxious  meetings  were  held,  to 
elicit  and  concentrate  the  interest  of  the  unconverted.  The  pri- 
mary symptom  of  a  great  work  was,  that  nearly  a  hundred  pro- 
fessing Christians  in  this  large  church  gave  up  their  hopes,  which, 
besides  its  other  effects,  removed  the  scandal  hitherto  occasioned 
by  their  inconsistent  lives  ;  for  it  now  appeared  they  were  not 
real  Christians  at  all.  Alban  and  his  cousin  Jane,  though  not 
church  members,  were  in  the  number  of  those  who  tlius  renounced 
their  claim  to  the  possession  of  a  new  heart.  Both  were  said  to 
be  under  the  deepest  conviction,  but  it  was  very  brief,  for  they 
were  among  the  earliest  of  the  new  conversions,  and  both  found 
peace  on  the  same  day, — a  bright  Sabbath  of  February,  the  sun 
glittering  on  fields  of  stainless  snow,  and  on  trees  hanging  with 
icicles.  Alban  was  converted  in  the  morning,  and  Jane  in  the 
evening. 

The  cousins  threw  themselves  into  each  other's  arms  in  trans- 
port, when  they  first  met,  after  Jane's  happy  change  was  an- 
nounced. Certainly  they  were  both  happy,  for  they  believed 
themselves  emancipated  from  the  corruption  of  human  nature. 
Alban,  particularly,  to  whom  it  was  entii'ely  new,  although 
hitherto  remarkable  for  his  cool  propriety,'  was  thrown  quite  off 
his  balance,  and  for  nearly  a  week  acted  like  a  fool.  It  was  only 
expected,  however  ;  young  converts  are  always  somewhat  extrav- 
agant, and  are  wisely  allowed  a  spiritual  honeymoon. 

As  the  work  progressed,  the  operations  of  business  were  sus- 
pended, from  the  intensity  of  the  excitement.  The  school  was 
closed,  and  the  school-housiir  shghtly  darkened  at  midday,  was  oc- 

6* 


66 


AL  B AN . 


cupied,  early  in  the  morning,  at  noon,  and  in  the  evening,  by 
meetings  of  the  scholars  for  prayer,  with  reference  to  the  revival. 
The  girls  were  on  one  side,  as  in  school  hours,  and  the  boys  or 
young  men  (for  nearly  half  the  scholars  of  both  sexes  were  grown- 
up young  men  or  women) — the  young  men  on  the  other.  They 
led  in  prayer  alternately.  Jane's  sweet  voice  learned  to  raise  it- 
self, tremulous  with  excitement,  so  as  to  be  heard  by.  the  whole 
breathless  and  kneeling  school.  Different  individuals,  sometimes 
at  their  own  request,  were  prayed  for  by  name.  The  preaching 
was  chiefly  on  Sunday,  when  there  were  three  sermons  ;  but  the 
interest  was  prevented  from  flagging  during  the  week,  by  an  im- 
passioned discourse  in  the  evening,  on  two  of  the  intermediate 
days.  The  zeal  of  Alban  directed  itself  to  the  conversion  of  Polly, 
from  the  first  moment  of  his  own,  and  after  a  fierce,  prolonged 
struggle,  it  was  accomplished.  Hers  was  one  of  the  very  bright- 
est and  most  evident  transformations  that  were  effected  in  the 
revival.  But  though  "  brought  in"  under  Presbyterian  influence, 
Polly  joined  the  Methodists. 


ALBAN. 


67 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  is  the  scliool-house  ; — a  pretty,  white  Grecian  building,  stand- 
ing in  a  yard  among  young  acacias.  It  is  the  school-house 
in  the  long  summer  vacation.  Alban  is  its  sole  occupant.  It 
consists  of  a  single  room,  lighted  on  the  four  sides.  There  are  two 
long  ranges  of  clean  white  desks,  and  two  short  ones.  There  is  a 
middle  space,  with  a  stove,  a  table  for  some  older  students, 
and  a  high  desk  for  the  master  in  one  corner.  In  the  opposite 
corner  is  the  small  vestibule.  The  windows  look  out  on  cottage 
villas ;  on  some  dark,  unpainted  houses,  standing  in  vegetable 
gardens,  embowered  in  hops,  beans,  and  alders  ;  and  on  the  green 
school-house  yard.  This  last  is  divided  into  two  portions  by  a  high 
board  fence,  one  portion  for  the  boys,  one  for  the  girls.  But  Alban 
is  now  sole  lord  of  the  whole.  He  can  take  one  of  the  girls' 
desks,  if  he  likes  ;  he  can  lie  on  the  shady  grass,  on  the  sacred, 
tabooed,  screened-ofF  girls  side  of  the  play-ground,  or  he  can  walk  to 
and  fro  the  whole  length  of  the  school-room  in  revery,  such  as  fif- 
teen is  prone  to,  and  Alban  above  all  youths  of  his  age.  Alban  is 
luxurious  in  his  free  range.  His  ^Eschylus,  lexicon,  and  Greek 
grammar  are  on  one  desk  ;  a  trigonometry  lies  on  the  much- 
whittled  table,  under  the  blackboard  chalked  with  diagrams  ;  and 
his  writing  materials  are  disposed  in  a  third  quarter.  The  school- 
house  is  the  private  property  of  one  of  Alban's  uncles,  by  whom 
the  master  is  also  in  a  good  degree  supported.  Alban  has  finished 
his  day's  Avork,  and  writes.  Let  us  look  over  his  shoulder.  'Tis 
his  journal.    We  shall  not  confine  ourselves  to  this  day's  record. 

"  Aug.  5.  In  two  months  I  am  to  enter  college.  I  have  been 
at  Babylon  more  than  two  years,  enjoying  singular  privileges. 
How  have  I  spent  them  ?  I  fear  I  have  not  improved  them  as  I 
ought — not  even  the  last  eighteen  months,  since  I  obtained,  as  I 
hope,  the  great  gift.    The  waste  of  precious  time  which  I  cannot 


68 


ALBAN . 


recall,  now  gives  me  the  liveliest  sorrow.  The  brief,  monotonous 
entries  in  my  journal  show  how  I  lived  : — in  the  spring,  fishing  ; 
in  the  summer,  riding,  bathing,  and  playing  ball  with  the  uncon- 
verted ;  in  the  autumn,  out  shooting,  (a  daily  record  almost  ;)  in 
the  winter,  skating,  snowballing,  and  sleighing.  I  considered  that 
these  things  were  necessary  for  my  health,  but  my  motive,  I  fear, 
was  amusement.  Last  winter  I  read  hard,  to  be  sure,  but  I  fear 
it  was  more  from  ambition  than  a  sense  of  duty.  This  summer  I 
appear  to  have  lounged  away.  Relying  on  being  already  two 
years  in  advance  of  the  class  I  am  to  enter,  I  have  neglected  my 
studies  to  pass  the  hours  in  light  reading  or  unceasing  revery. 

"  It  is  since  Jane  left  us  in  the  spring  for  Mrs.  W.'s  great  school, 
that  I  have  been  so  dreamy.  I  am  irresistibly  impelled  to  be  ever 
constructing  in  imagination  my  own  future  destiny  linked,  as  I 
hope,  with  hers.  I  fancy  the  four  years  of  my  college  life,  the 
three  years  of  professional  study,  which  I  hope  to  reduce  to  two. 
Yes,  at  twenty-two  I  may  very  well,  with  my  quickness,  be  admit- 
ted to  the  bar.    Jane  will  then  be  turned  of  twenty. 

"Sept.  1.  I  have  worked  pretty  well  during  August ;  dream- 
ed a  trifle  too  much.  This  month  is  the  last.  I  will  try  to  keep 
clear  of  revery  altogether.  Instead  of  imagining  the  future,  I  will 
endeavor  in  the  hour  of  revery  to  recall  the  past. 

"  I  have  had  a  thousand  imaginary  love-scenes  with  Jane,  but 
notwithstanding  all  our  cousinly  familiarity,  and  living  so  long  un- 
der the  same  roof,  I  never  had  the  courage  to  hint  such  a  thing  to 
her  ;  once  I  wrote  her  an  absurd  letter,  (it  was  a  year  ago,)  but  I 
had  the  sense  to  burn  it.  It  makes  me  blush  at  this  moment  to 
remember  it. 

**  2.  I  have  appropriated  the  desk  which  used  to  be  Jane's, 
and  which  was  next  to  mine.  They  were  two  privileged  fellows 
who  had  desks  next  the  girls'  row,  with  but  this  narrow  passage 
between.  How  often  when  she  was  writing  her  exercise  where 
my  journal  now  lies  before  me,  I  have  watched  her  long,  fair 
ringlets,  glossier  than  silk,  now  drooping  over  the  paper,  and  now 
falling  back  on  her  neck.    And  the  hussy  was  so  careful  never  to 


ALBAN. 


69 


look  round  towards  the  boys'  school,  any  more  than  if  it  did  not 
exist.  I  cannot  remember  catching  her  eye  in  school-time  more 
than  once  or  twice,  all  the  time  that  we  sat  daily  next  each 
other,  though  sometimes  her  frock  would  brush  my  desk  as  she 
passed. 

"  Sept.  18.  It  appears  that  my  father  can  afford  to  send  me 
to  college.  This  is  an  immense  relief  to  my  mind.  I  had  feared 
that  some  one  of  my  uncles  was  to  do  it.  I  think  I  Avould  have 
rather  learned  a  trade  or  gone  behind  a  counter.  Well,  Henry 
and  I  are  to  pack  next  week  for  New  Haven.  I  pretend  to  be  a 
candidate  for  eternal  happiness,  yet  I  am  conscious  that  the  coming 
ten  years  reach  to  the  farthest  boundary  of  my  wishes  and  hopes. 
The  first  seven  I  mentally  devote  to  preparation  and  anticipation ; 
the  following  three  to  a  quick  bloom  of  success — and  to  the  perfect 
bliss  of  being  married  to  Jane.  Beyond  stretches  a  misty  region 
which  I  have  no  wish  to  penetrate  so  much  as  in  thought." 

The  hour  when  Alban  should  quit  Babylon  for  college  was 
indeed  at  hand.  His  cousin  Henry,  and  George  St.  CJair,  a 
scion  of  the  house  on  the  female  side,  the  cousin  of  both,  were  to 
enter  the  same  University  at  the  same  time,  so  that  a  general 
family  sympathy  was  excited,  which  extended  itself  through  the 
community,  about  to  lose  for  a  time  the  very  flower  of  its  youth. 
Alban  went  the  rounds  of  the  principal  families  of  the  village  and 
of  its  vicinity,  to  take  leave.  All  hoped  that  he  would  spend  as 
many  as  possible  of  his  vacations  at  Babylon.  Those  who  knew 
about  him  expressed  the  hope  that  he  would  be  the  valedictorian 
of  his  class.  The  old  schoolmaster  even  ventured  to  predict  this, 
not  only  to  Alban,  but  to  others. 

"  1  have  fitted  a  great  many  young  men  for  college,"  he  said 
to  his  favorite  pupil,  "  among  whom  were  several  of  your  family. 
Most  of  them  have  done  me  credit.  Some  have  graduated  with 
honors.  But  I  have  never  had  a  valedictorian  among  my  scholars. 
I  count  upon  you,  Alban,  to  procure  this  great  gratification  for  an 
old  man's  pride." 

Alban  promised  that  he  would  try.    It  was  his  own  secret 


70 


ALBAN. 


ambition.  He  had  also  to  bid  farewell  to  about  twenty  female 
cousins,  ranging  from  seventeen  to  thirty,  and  distributed  among 
four  or  five  households.  Some  of  them  were  plain  and  shy,  some 
were  graceful  and  chatty,  some  beautiful  as  the  morning.  Alban 
kissed  them  all.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  country  between  so 
near  relations.  In  their  calico  morning-dresses,  without  any 
ornament  but  their  neat,  beautiful  hair,  and  their  white  hands, 
they  came  out  into  the  wide  halls  of  their  fathers'  houses  to  meet 
him,  and  accompanied  him  to  the  trellised  front-doors  to  bid  him 
renewed  farewells.  They  all  sent  their  love  to  his  father  and 
mother.  They  begged  him  not  to  injure  his  health  by  study. 
Rose  St.  Clair  was  the  youngest  of  all  Alban's  Babylonian  cousins, 
and  she  did  not  live  strictly  at  Babylon,  but  at  St.  Clairsborough, 
a  beautiful  village  about  ten  miles  distant.  She  was  the  youngest 
of  his  own  generation,  for  Jane  was  one  degree  farther  removed. 
Rose  was  seventeen,  and  by  universal  acclaim  the  beauty  of  the 
county.  The  boy  had  gallantly  kissed  all  his  other  cousins,  but 
with  Rose  he  hung  back  coyly,  though  he  had  just  saluted  her 
sisters.  She  laughed  and  blushed,  and  holding  his  hand,  ofiered 
her  red,  beautifully  pouting  lips. 

*'  When  I  see  you  again,  cousin  Rose,"  said  Alban,  "  you  will 
be  married,  I  dare  say." 

"  Why,  you  see,  cousin  Alban,"  she  replied,  "  I  can't  wait  for 
you.    By  the  time  you  were  old  enough,  I  should  be  an  old  maid." 

Aunt  Fanny's  parting  advice  had  reference  chiefly  to  the 
religious  views  which  her  nephew  had  adopted  while  under  her 
roof 

"  You  may  hear  revivals,  and  particularly  Mr.  Finney's 
system,  unfavorably  spoken  of,  where  you  are  going,  Alban,"  she 
said  ;  "  but  you  have  had  an  opportunity  of  forming  an  opinion 
on  these  subjects  for  yourself  In  regard  to  the  Episcopal  Church, 
to  which  I  thought  you  at  one  time  inclined,  I  am  very  glad  that 
you  did  not  unite  yourself  to  it.  For  although  I  believe  there  are 
real  Christians  among  Episcopahans,  as  well  as  in  other  denomi- 
nations, yet  I  think  the  number  is  comparatively  small ;  and, 


ALBAN. 


71 


generally  speaking  it  is  not  uncharitable  to  say,  that  their  church 
system  tends  to  make  people  satisfied  with  the  mere  forms,  without 
the  life  of  piety.  Episcopalians  also,  very  commonly,  if  not 
universally,  disapprove  of  revivals,  which  I  must  consider  a  very 
bad  sign.  As  I  have  mentioned  to  you,  their  Church,  in  my 
opinion,  is  pointed  out  in  the  Revelations  by  that  of  Laodicea, 
which  was  lukewarm,  neither  cold  nor  hot,  and  which  Christ 
therefore  threatened  to  spue  out  of  his  mouth.  That  signifies  that 
unless  they  embrace  the  system  of  revivals,  and  the  other  benevo- 
lent operations  of  the  day,  they  wall  be  cast  off  as  a  Church.  I 
am  very  sure  that  this  is  the  true  meaning,"  said  aunt  Fanny, 
looking  over  her  spectacles  with  great  earnestness. 

"  I  have  not  an  idea  at  present  of  joining  the  Episcopal 
Church,  aunt,"  replied  Alban. 

"  1  hope  you  will  always  continue  as  zealous,  Alban,  in  all 
the  benevolent  operations  of  the  day,  as  you  now  are,"  con- 
tinued aunt  Fanny.  "  I  will  say  it  to  you  now,  that  though  so 
young,  you  have  done  a  great  deal  here,  especially  for  the  Tract 
cause.  I  consider  that  the  miracle  of  the  loaves  and  fishes,  Alban, 
is  significant  of  the  multiplication  of  knowledge  through  the  efforts 
of  the  Bible  and  Tract  Societies.  1  believe  you  are  President  of 
the  Juvenile  Foreign  and  Domestic  Missionary  Society,  and  Cor- 
responding Secretary  of  the  Babylon  Auxiliary  of  the  American 
Sunday- School  Union.  You  must  not  lose  your  interest  in  these 
things  at  college,  Alban,  as  so  many  do." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  I  shan't,  aunt  Fanny." 

"  Much  alarm  is  felt  by  ministers  and  others,"  continued  his 
aunt,  "  at  the  great  increase  of  Catholics  in  our  country,  iii 
consequence  of  immigration.  If  the  ministers  understood  the 
Scriptures  in  their  spiritual  sense,  I  think  they  would  feel  less 
alarm.  It  is  very  clear  to  my  mind  that  the  Apostle  Peter 
represents  spiritually  the  Roman  Catholic  Church.  As  Peter 
denied  his  Master,  so  the  Church  of  Rome  has  become  apostate  ; 
and  as  Peter  dissembled  at  Antioch  towards  the  Grentile  converts, 
BO  has  the  Church  of  Rome  taken  away  the  word  of  God  from 


72 


ALBAN . 


the  common  people ;  and  Paul  withstanding  him  to  his  face, 
signifies  the  Protestant  Church  opposing  the  errors  of  popery. 
But  Peter  afterwards  repented,  and  then  the  Lord  gave  him  the 
charge  of  the  flock,  and  commanded  him  to  strengthen  his 
brethren  ;  which  shows  that  the  Catholic  Church  is  to  be  reformed, 
after  which  it  will  strengthen  other  Churches,  and  feed  the  whole 
world.  "VYe  have  not  yet  a  Catholic  church  at  Babylon,  but  the 
number  of  Germans  of  that  religion  increases  here  so  much  from 
immigration,  that  I  should'nt  be  surprised  if  they  had  one  in  a 
year  or  two,  which  will  distress  our  people,  but  will  give  me  a 
great  deal  of  pleasure.  We  shall  then,"  concluded  Aunt  Fanny, 
with  a  look  of  peculiar  satisfaction,  "  have  all  the  seven  churches 
in  the  Revelations  in  this  town." 

"  Were  you  ever  in  a  Roman  Catholic  church,  aunt  Fanny  ?" 
asked  Alban. 

"  I  never  saw  the  outside  of  one,  that  I  remember,"  said  his 
aunt,  smoothing  her  gray  hair  thoughtfully  under  her  prim, 
snowy  cap. 

"  It  appears  to  me,  aunt,"  said  Alban,  abruptly  and  energeti- 
cally, "that  the  Presbyterian  Church  neglects  too  much  the 
moral  education  of  young  people,  both  before  and  after  they  are 
converted." 

Aunt  Fanny  looked  at  her  nephew  in  great  surprise. 

"  Yes,  their  moral  education,  aunt.  We  need  minute  super- 
intendence over  what  we  say,  and  what  we  think.  They  cram 
us  with  the  Bible  till  we  are  surfeited  with  knowledge.  I  tell 
you  what,  m.y  dear  aunt,  I  would  be  willing  at  this  moment  not 
to  know  A.  from  B.,  to  have  a  right  clear  conscience." 

Aunt  Fanny  stared. 

The  servants,  or  rather  the  help,  felt  most  keenly  the  departure 
of  Alban  and  his  cousins  for  college.  It  was  true  that  in  the 
Atherton  households  these  domestic  appurtenances  had  always 
been  obliged,  by  the  irresistible,  because  quiet,  haughtiness  of  the 
family,  to  forego  the  privilege  which  in  that  region  was  then 
generally  accorded  to  native  American  servants,  of  associating 


AL  B  AN. 


73 


with  their  employers  both  at  the  table  and  in  the  drawing- room  ; 
but  this  did  not  prevent  the  children,  as  we  have  seen,  from 
making  the  ample  and  cheerful  kitchen  their  play-room,  and  the 
young  "  ladies"  engaged  in  its  respectable  occupations,  their  play- 
mates and  confidants.  Even  to  Alban,  accustomed  from  infancy 
to  the  privileged  familiarity  of  black  house-servants,  this  seemed 
quite  as  much  a  matter  of  course  as  to  his  Babylon  cousins.  But 
Polly  and  Maggie  were  well  aware  that  when  Mr.  Alban  and  Mr. 
Henry  came  back  from  college,  young  gentlemen  grown,  the  case 
would  be  entirely  altered.  They  resigned  themselves  to  the  loss 
of  their  friends  ;  still  it  was  painful.  Even  the  plain  and  resolute 
little  Madeleine,  with  hor  blue  petticoat,  and  the  yellow  figured 
handkerchief  crossed  over  her  modest  breast,  cried  as  the  carriage 
rolled  away  from  the  gate. 


BOOK  III. 

€n[[tp :  tliB  fmi  Itnrij.  C'Ijb  arrjiitBtturnl  ^^kn  nppniri 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  city  of  New  Haven  is,  or  was,  (for  it  is  many  years  since  we 
saw  it,)  most  characteristically  a  New  England  capital,  and  not 
unworthy  to  be  the  site  of  New  England's  most  Puritan,  and  most 
New  Englandish  University.  For  the  information  of  our  Old 
English  readers,  we  may  observe  that  it  is  situate  on  Long  Island 
Sound,  (an  arm  of  the  sea,  Avhich  washes  the  southern  boundary  of 
Connecticut,)  on  a  bay  where  the  great  ranges  of  the  White  and 
Green  Mountains  terminate,  a  few  miles  apart,  in  two  bold  and 
beautiful  bluffs  rising  like  the  crests  of  breaking  waves  above  a 
vast  green  plain.  These  are  called  East  and  West  Rock.  New 
Haven  lies  between  them,  some  two  miles  from  the  beach. 

According  to  its  original  plan,  New  Haven  is  a  square,  laid 
out  in  squares,  the  central  one  forming  an  immense  green.  The 
houses  stand  chiefly  iu  gardens  ;  the  streets  are  lined  with  noble 
elms,  forming  a  series  of  arbors,  ever  crossing.  On  the  upper 
half  of  the  declivitous  green  are  grouped  three  graceful  churches, 
and  a  state-hou>e  copied  from  the  Temple  of  Theseus  ;  and  this 
collection  of  public  buildings  is  overlooked  on  the  north  by  the 
long  line  of  brick  colleges  embowered  among  trees. 

Altogether,  if  it  cannot  compare  ever  so  distantly  with  that 
wondrous  relic  of  the  middle  ages  on  the  banks  of  the  Isis,  the 


ALBAN. 


75 


locality  of  Yale  is  stately  and  academic.  In  early  October, — the 
streets  all  waving  overhead  and  rustling  under  foot,  with  bright 
colored  leaves, — its  aspect  was  almost  poetic.  Alban  and  Henry 
were  soon  installed  in  pleasant  rooms  in  an  old  college.  The 
professor  who  had  examined  them,  observed,  with  a  smile,  in  des- 
ignating their  apartment,  "  That  college  was  built  by  your 
grandfather,  young  gentlemen,  and  has  since  served  as  a  model." 
Alban  was  pleased  to  find  the  names  of  several  Athertons  cut  on 
the  window-seats.  The  University  (which  the  boys  went  over) 
bore  several  other  marks  of  connection  with  his  race,  and  already 
blended  in  his  fancy  with  those  images  of  a  patriotic  and  pioiis 
ancestry,  by  which  from  infancy  he  had  been  surrounded.  He 
observed  with  pride  the  name  of  his  maternal  grandfather  among 
the  donors  of  a  fine  full-length  of  Washington,  adorning  the 
Philosophical  Chamber. 

"  I  passed  the  first  eight  years  of  my  life  in  his  house  at  Yan- 
mouth,"  he  said,  exultingly,  to  Henry  ;  "I  assure  you  it  is  a 
famous  place,  there  is  nothing  like  it  at  Babylon." 

The  young  Athertons  themselves  were  regarded  with  great 
interest  by  both  the  faculty  and  the  undergraduates.  It  was  but 
two  years  before  that  one  of  the  family  had  taken  his  degree  with 
the  reputation,  always  coveted  in  an  American  college,  of  the  "  best 
writer"  in  his  class.  Alban's  own  tutor  had  been  this  Atherton's 
generous  rival,  and  the  Senior  class  still  cherished  the  tradition  of 
the  brilliant  themes,  and  the  eloquence  in  debate  which  had  fas- 
cinated them  as  Freshmen.  Was  either  of  these  innocent-looking 
boys, whose  simplicity  now  provoked  the  smiles  of  wise  Sophomores 
and  dignified  Juniors,  going  to  prove  as  "talented"  as  their  cousin  ? 
There  were  not  wanting  those  who  already  affirmed  with  positive 
certainty,  that  the  "little"  one  would  even  be  valedictorian. 
Meanwhile,  Alban  and  Henry  were  visited  in  their  new  rooms  by 
the  Sophs,  and  unmercifully  quizzed.  Their  being  "  members  of 
the  Church"  was  a  fact  that  soon  transpired,  and  became  the  occa- 
sion of  infinite  mirth.  One  Soph  pretended  to  ask  a  history  of  their 
experience  ;  another  gravely  introduced  the  poor  boys  as  "  pious 


76 


ALBAN , 


young  men"  to  some  tall,  gaunt,  nasal  beneficiary  of  the  Education 
Society.  Alban  was  privately  advised  by  one  to  keep  the  fact  of 
his  being  a  "  professor"  a  strict  secret,  as  it  would  subject  him  to 
cruel  persecutions.  This  information  was  confirmed  by  others. 
Smoking-out,  ducking,  window-smashing,  and  riding  on  a  rail  were 
the  least  of  the  inflictions  with  which  (by  their  account)  the  hap- 
less church-member  was  sure  to  be  visited. 

"  Let  them  try  it,  by  George,"  said  Alban,  with  more  of  the 
impulses  of  the  old  man  than  of  Christian  submission  in  his  youth- 
ful breast.    "  They  won't  try  it  twice,  I  guess." 

A  more  serious  disadvantage  of  his  religious  position  soon 
threatened  our  hero.  Some  fellows,  who  hated  rehgion  in  the  ab- 
stract, and  believed  that  all  who  professed  it  were  either  nirmies 
or  hypocrites,  said  that  Alb  Atherton  would  be  a  blueskin.  Some 
other  fellows  of  his  own  division,  jealous  of  his  recitations,  took  it 
up,  and  declared  that  Alb  Atherton  ivas  a  blueskin.  It  needs  very 
little  to  blacken  an  unknown  character  in  the  eyes  of  the  multi- 
tude. A  few  determined  slanderers  are  quite  sufficient.  With  the 
exception  of  the  charity-students,  and  of  a  few  self-supporting 
scholars  of  humble  origin,  but  resolute  industry,  such  as  are  always 
to  be  found  in  a  New  England  college,  Alban's  class  were  shortly 
persuaded  that  he  was  by  nature,  if  not  yet  by  actual  transgression, 
one  of  that  much-hated  fraternity,  blueskins,  trucklers  to  authority, 
spies  on  their  fellows.  Alban  soon  perceived  the  light  in  which 
he  was  regarded.  Some  young  Southerners  with  whom  he  had 
begun  to  contract  an  intimacy,  suddenly  avoided  him.  A  couple 
of  Yanmouth  boys  who  had  at  first  proudly  claimed  his  notice,  cut 
him.  The  fellows  who  sat  next  him  in  division  did  not  speak  to 
him.  One  day,  as  he  entered  the  division-room,  there  was  a  half 
hiss.  Henry  Atherton  partly  shared  his  cousin's  unpopularity,  and 
although  stolidly  indifferent  as  respected  himself,  he  felt  indignantly 
for  Alban,  whom  he  ardently  admired  and  tenderly  loved. 

Some  lads  droop  under  such  an  influence,  which  it  is  vain  to 
think  of  resisting.  We  have  known  a  young  man  of  the  most 
amiable  character  actually  die  from  the  depression  and  misery  thus 


ALBAN. 


77 


occasioned.  Alban  Athertori  shrunk  into  himself,  walked  haugh- 
tily past  his  classmates,  chased  ball  by  himself  on  the  green.  He 
would  not  even  suffer  the  affectionate  Henry  to  keep  him  com- 
pany. Fellows  who  would  not  speak  to  him,  would  speak  to 
Henry. 

One  day,  as  he  was  approaching  his  college  at  noon  after  a 
solitary  promenade,  half  a  dozen  Sophs  approached  him  from  his 
own  entry,  two  of  them  bearing  a  long,  rough  rail.  Alban  stepped 
aside  upon  the  grass  to  let  them  pass. 

"  Now,  have  him,"  cried  they  all  in  a  breath. 

Two  of  them  seized  him  by  the  collar  and  waist ;  a  couple 
more  caught  his  legs,  and  the  others  placed  the  rail  under  him  in 
a  trice.  In  the  States  there  can  be  no  more  ignominious  punish- 
ment inflicted  on  the  object  of  popular  odium.  At  the  South  it 
has  often  been  the  fate  of  the  itinerant  abolitionist  or  fraudulent 
pedlar.  It  is  painful  too,  and  even  dangerous.  Elevated  to  the 
height  of  the  bearers'  shoulders,  the  unfortunate  victim  is  held 
down  to  the  rail  on  either  side  by  his  feet,  and  compelled  to  hold 
on  with  both  hands,  to  save  himself  from  torture. 

Alban  had  never  fought  a  regular  battle  in  his  life.  For  the 
last  three  years,  having  been  a  professed  Christian,  he  had  not,  per- 
haps, doubled  his  fist.  But  he  was  agile  of  limb,  supple  as  India- 
rubber,  and  now  ireful  as  a  savage.  Little  did  he  regard  the 
agony  of  bending  himself  back  till  he  could  reach  the  face  of  his 
hindmost  bearer.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  before  one  could  see 
how  it  was  done,  the  rail  was  flung  on  the  grass,  and  Alban  rolled 
over  with  the  Soph's  cheek  between  his  teeth.  He  fought  "  hke 
mad,"  with  very  little  science,  but  terrible  execution.  He  broke 
the  nose  of  one  assailant,  doubled  up  another  by  a  furious  coup  de 
pied,  knocked  another  flat  with  a  huge  stone  on  the  temple.  The 
fellow  whom  he  had  bitten — a  tall  Creole  from  Arkansas — now 
approached  him  with  a  drawn  knife,  calling  out  with  frightful 
curses,  that  he  would  kill  him,  and  a  minute  more  would  undoubt- 
edly have  ended  this  history,  but  at  that  instant  a  cheer,  or  rather 
a  yell,  broke  from  a  throng  of  some  thirty  or  forty  Fresh,  who  had 

7* 


78 


ALBAN. 


rushed  from  various  quarters  to  look  on  ;  and  with  the  yell  they 
threw  themselves  forward  as  one  man  to  the  rescue  of  their  young 
classmate. 

"  Fresh  I    Fresh  I    Fresh  !"— 

"  Soph  I  Soph  !  Soph  I  Yale  I  Yale  I"  were  the  fierce  resound- 
ing cries.  It  was  the  most  public  hour  of  the  day,  and  the  most 
public  place  in  college,  and  in  a  few  minutes,  a  couple  of  hundred 
fiery  youths  were  arrayed  against  each  other.  On  the  one  side, 
the  Creole,  with  drawn  knife,  still  swore  he  would  kill  the  cow- 
ardly blueskin,  and  was  hardly  restrained  by  those  around  him 
from  rushing  alone  into  the  thickening  phalanx  of  Freshmen,  who 
were  now  headed  by  their  bully.  On  the  other  hand,  Alban 
stood  in  the  midst  of  his  new  friends,  with  arms  folded,  slightly 
panting ;  his  curly  head  bleeding  disregarded,  his  turn-down  col- 
lar and  shirt-bosom  torn,  and  covered  with  blood  that  was  not 
wholly  his  own.  Forgetting  entirely  their  prejudices,  the  class 
were  in  transports  of  rage  at  these  marks  of  violence  ;  a  fight  was 
imminent ;  the  bully's  singular  authority  alone  restrained  them. 
Alban  approached  this  functionary,  who  was  exerting  himself  to 
keep  his  class  on  the  defensive. 

"  I  don't  want  a  fight  about  me,  Mr.  Hayne.  Let  me  go  to 
my  room,  while  you  keep  the  rest  here.  I  am  not  afraid  of  Lau- 
rier's  killing  me." 

Several  loudly  opposed  this  proposition,  but,  the  bully  said ; 
**  You  may  try  it,  Atherton.  "We  shall  be  in  time  to  save  you,  if 
necessary." 

Alban  walked  quietly  ofi'  toward  his  college ;  the  Creole,  Lau- 
rier  darted  instantly  after  him,  but  was  again  caught  by  his  own 
friends.  Alban  turned  at  the  noise.  There  was  a  general  shout 
from  the  Fresh,  bidding  him  cut  for  his  room.  But  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  our  young  hero  walked  up  to  the  party  from 
whom  his  enemy  was  still  violently  struggling  to  free  himself. 

"Laurier,"  said  he,  in  French,  "what  a  big  fool  you  are! 
If  you  did  not  struggle,  they  would  let  you  go  of  their  own 
accord." 


ALBAN. 


79 


"You  be  off,  and  be  to  you,"  said  Laurier's  friends,  who 

did  not  understand  a  word  ;  but  Laurier  himself  became  quiet. 

"  Let  us  shake  hands  for  the  present,"  continued  Alban,  in 
the  same  language  as  before,  "  and  afterwards  we  can  settle  it 
like  gentlemen," 

Laurier  replied  with  a  curse  of  unutterable  coarseness,  but 
added  to  the  others,  turning  away  as  he  said  it,  "  Let  him  go  ;  I 
will  find  a  time  for  him." 

And  now  the  scene  was  very  characteristic  of  a  college  com- 
motion. The  Freshman  class  was  the  most  numerous,  and,  phys- 
ically, by  far  the  most  formidable  in  the  University,  having  an 
unusually  large  proportion  of  full-grown  meu.  The  attack  on 
Atherton  was  unanimously  voted  to  be  an  affront  to  the  whole 
class.  It  made  no  difference,  it  was  fiercely  said,  whether  he  was 
a  blueskin  or  not,  the  Sophs  had  no  right  to  interfere.  But  the 
public  feeling  towards  him  was  entirely  altered  in  a  moment  by 
the  spirit  he  had  displayed.  His  successful  resistance  of  the  infa- 
mous insult  offered  to  them  all  in  his  person,  elicited  a  triumphant 
sympathy,  and  the  severity  of  the  injuries  he  had  inflicted  on  the 
enemy  inspired  a  ferocious  delight,  that  exalted  him  positively 
into  a  champion.  A  meeting  of  the  class  was  called  in  the 
Rhetorical  Chamber  after  dinner,  to  consider  what  was  due  to 
their  own  honor.  Atherton  was  greeted  on  his  entrance  with 
enthusiastic  cheers.  He  w^as  called  out  for  a  speech,  and  he  had 
too  much  native  tact  not  to  speak  at  once  to  the  point  of  the 
"  slanderous  imputation"  which  had  been  cast  upon  him,  "  of 
being  a  blueskin."  Amid  the  laughter  of  the  class  he  drew  a 
sarcastic  portrait  of  the  blueskin  character,  but  affirmed  that 
even  the  blueskin  was  more  estimable  than  the  slanderer ;  for 
the  former,  he  said,  might  possibly  be  acting  "  under  a  kind  of  a 
sneaking  sense  of  duty" — this  expression  called  forth  uproarious 
applause,  and  Alban  repeated  it  wath  emphasis,  amid  renewal  of 
laughter  and  cheers — but  the  slanderer  of  a  classmate,  in  his 
opinion,  must  be  actuated  by  unmixed,  diabolical  mahgnity. 
This  speech,  aided  by  a  black  patch  on  the  temple,  at  once  made 


80  *  ALBAN. 

Alb  Atlierton  the  most  popular  man  in  college.  They  declared 
*'  he  was  a  talented  fellow,"  and  "  real  spunky,"  and  that  "  he 
had  pitched  it  into  the  Sophs,  first-rate." 

With  tolerable  reason  to  be  satisfied,  even  as  matters  stood, 
the  Freshmen  did  not  propose  any  measure  of  serious  hostility 
against  their  foes.  Something,  however,  must  be  done  to  express 
the  resolution  of  the  class  to  hold  its  own.  They  and  their  rivals 
sat  in  chapel  in  the  same  aisle,  but  made  their  exit  at  its  op- 
posite doors.  It  had  been  a  common  piece  of  insolence  for 
Sophomore  classes,  to  make  a  rush  on  the  Freshmen  after  prayers, 
and  push  them  out.  An  ineffectual  attempt  of  that  kind  had 
once  been  made  by  the  present  Sophs.  But  after  prayers  on  the 
day  signalized  by  our  hero's  affray,  occurred  a  thing  without  pre- 
cedent, the  Fresh  making  a  successful  rush  on  the  Sophs.  Young 
Alban  was  placed,  against  his  will,  nearly  in  the  van  between 
two  of  the  most  athletic  of  his  classmates,  and  the  whole  body 
pressing  on  with  irresistible  force,  he  was  borne  triumphantly  out 
of  chapel  by  the  Sophomore  door. 


ALBAN. 


81 


CHAPTER  II. 

Alban  had  thus  an  exciting  debut  at  Old  Yale,  but  after  that,  his 
college  life  flowed  on.  in.  collegiate  tranquillity.  It  is  true  that 
there  were  some  violent  academical  storms  in  his  time, — one 
fierce  riot  between  the  students  and  the  townspeople,  in  conse- 
quence of  which  some  of  Alban's  class  were  expelled,  and  after- 
wards taken  back  ;  one  fierce  rebellion,  ending  in  the  expulsion 
of  half  a  class  ;  one  mighty  revival,  gathering  half  the  college 
into  the  "  College  Church  :"  and  our  hero's  light  sails  bent  and 
fluttered,  his  slender  mast  creaked,  his  graceful  bark  danced  like 
those  of  others  in  the  gale,  but  it  was  only  sympathy.  He  took 
all  the  first  prizes  in  his  division  ;  he  was  universally  admitted  to 
be  sure  of  an  "  oration"  when  his  class  graduated  ;  and  men  said 
that  Atherton  might  be  valedictorian  if  he  wished.  He  did  not 
wish  it.  He  had  started  for  it  at  first,  but  his  ambition  soon  took 
another  turn.  He  acquired,  almost  without  effort,  a  more  fascina- 
ting and  very  peculiar  reputation.  If  he  rose  to  speak  in  a  de- 
bating society,  every  body  listened  ;  if  he  had  an  address  to  deliver 
at  a  college  anniversary,  the  chapel  was  thronged  ;  his  themes 
were  the  topic  of  conversation,  his  name  was  the  brag  of  the 
college  society  of  which  he  was  a  member.  There  is  no  political 
or  literary  eminence  of  after  life  so  gratifying.  With  this  academ- 
ical success  a  personal  trait  developed  itself  in  Alban  Atherton 
which  one  would  not  have  foreseen.  He  became  shy.  He  had 
no  social  brilliancy.  Other  men  of  his  standing  addicted  them- 
selves very  much  to  the  society  of  New  Haven,  which  then  boasted 
some  celebrated  belles  ;  but  even  when  Alban  had  got  into  his 
junior  year,  and  had  consequently  passed  his  nineteenth  birthday, 
he  seemed  only  to  have  grown  more  diffident.  If  he  saw  ladies 
fluttering  down  the  elm-shaded  street  towards  him  he  would  turn 
immediately  into  another. 


82 


ALB AN . 


Neither  did  he  form  any  permanent  college  intimacy,  although 
he  had  always  many  devoted  personal  admirers.  The  nearest  ap- 
proach to  confidential  friendship  which  he  enjoyed  was  Avith  some 
of  the  hard-handed,  coarse-grained,  but  often  true-hearted,  earnest 
students,  known  as  *'  charities."  As  a  professor  of  religion  he 
knew  them  all,  and  with  one  or  two  was  on  terms  of  very  famil- 
iar intercourse.  They  loved  the  highly-nurtured,  gifted,  and  pious 
youth,  who  sympathized  with  their  indigence  and  rehgious  zeal. 
To  them  Alban  appeared  a  "  rich  student,"  for  he  knew  no  em- 
barrassments about  his  bills,  boarded  in  the  upper  commons, 
dressed  like  a  gentleman,  and  with  Henry  and  St.  Clair,  indulged 
freely  in  the  expensive  pleasures  of  riding,  driving,  and  boating. 

Among  the  fellows  of  his  own  proper  standing  in  the  intra- 
collegiate  world,  Alban  had  not  a  permanent  intimate.  He 
cronied  for  a  time,  when  a  Freshman,  and  even  up  to  the  third 
term  of  his  Sophomore  year,  with  several  fellows  in  succession, 
but  hardly  one  of  these  friendships  lasted  m.ore  than  a  term.  He 
continued  to  treat  one  or  two  of  the  individuals  as  famihar  ac- 
quaintance after  the  violent  intimacy  had  ceased  ;  but  others  he 
dropped  entirely.  No  one  knew  exactly  why,  unless  perhaps  in 
some  cases  the  parties  themselves.  Henry  and  he  were  chums, 
and  the  affection  of  the  two  cousins  was  constant. 

Our  hero's  vacations  were  variously  spent :  the  spring  and 
"winter  mostly  with  his  parents  in  New  York,  the  long  autumnal 
one  in  travelling  with  them,  or  at  least  with,  his  mother.  In.  the 
May  vacation  of  his  junior  year  he  visited  Yanmouth  and  Yantic 
Falls,  where  his  piety,  his  college-prizes,  his  modesty,  his  purity, 
and  the  great  warmth  of  his  affection  for  his  kindred,  caused  him 
to  be  received  with  unparallelled  cordiality  by  his  relations,  old 
and  young.  His  uncle  Hezekiah  alone  shook  his  head,  for  he 
found  that  Alban  had  become  infected  with  the  heretical  theology 
of  New  Haven. 

"  That  is  not  the  faith  of  your  fathers,"  he  said,  with  a  sternly 
beautiful  smile  ;  "  abandon  it,  Alban,  at  once,  if  you  wish  to  be  the 
hope  of  your  family." 


ALB AN . 


83 


"  Nay,"  said  the  enthusiastic  Rachel,  beautiful  as  ever  and 
more  than  ever  sought,  though  vainly,  "  there  must  be  something 
in  the  New  Haven  theology  which  fascinates  cousin  Alban  by  its 
partial  truth.  I  rather  like  what  you  say,  cousin  Alban,  about 
conversion  being  a  rational  act.  It  corresponds  with  my  own 
experience." 

Alban  did  not  feel  that  shyness  with  a  cousin  some  twelve 
years  his  senior,  which  made  him  shun  young  ladies  more  nearly 
of  his  own  age,  not  related  to  him.  He  had  several  topics  in. 
common  with  Rachel  Atherton,  and  their  mutual  love  for  the 
memory  of  their  aunt  Elizabeth  was  a  strong  bond  of  sympathy. 
Rachel  made  him.  take  her  out  to  drive  in  the  ancestral  chaise, 
which  had  now  come  into  her  father's  possession.  She  wept  as 
she  spoke  of  Betsey  Atherton.  She  smiled — her  father's  beautiful 
smile  softened  by  her  womanhood — when  she  told  him  that  this 
visit  would  make  her  think  of  him  more  than  she  had  done  for 
years.  She  promised  to  pray  for  him  more  particularly  than  for 
others  of  her  young  male  cousins  ;  she  engaged  him  to  unite  in 
the  "  concert  of  prayer"  for  the  unconverted  members  of  their 
family.  Alban  left  Yantic  with  a  more  intense  feeling  than  ever 
of  proud  love  for  the  old  Puritan  line  from  which  he  was  doubly 
descended. 


84 


ALB AN . 


CHAPTER  III. 

It  was  about  six  months  after  this  visit  to  Yantic,  (the  date  is  not 
unimportant,)  and  our  hero  had  arrived  at  the  first  or  fall  term 
of  his  senior  year.  The  city  of  elms  Avas  leafless,  but  the  Indian 
summer  still  permitted  rides  to  East  Rock.  Alban  had  just  re- 
turned from  one  on  a  Saturday  afternoon,  and  was  crossing  the 
green  from  the  livery-stable  to  the  colleges.  He  overtook  a  class- 
mate. It  was  an  undersized  fellow  of  delicate  features,  but  with 
a  wasted  look  about  the  eyes  and  an  uncertainty  in  his  gait  that 
betrayed  premature  excess.  He  had  formerly  been  one  of  Ather- 
ton's  inseparables,  and  they  were  still  on  good  terms  although  the 
intimacy  had  ceased. 

"  You  walk  a  little  stifi^,  Atherton.    Been  riding  ?" 

Alban  assented. 

"  You  are  out  every  Saturday.  You  don't  visit  at  all.  I 
wonder  you  don't  get  a  gig  or  buggy  instead  of  a  horse,  and  ask 
out  some  young  lady.    It  would  cost  you  no  more." 

"  It  would  not  be  half  so  good  exercise,  Shepherd." 

"Well,  I  never  saw  a  fellow  like  you.  Every  other  man  in 
the  class  that  is  a  man,  (except  the  charities  and  future  theologs,) 
is  either  dissipated  or  in  love  with  some  New  Haven  girl.  You 
are  neither.  By  George,  I  sometimes  think  that  you  are  a  girl 
yourself" 

"  I  am  a  professor  of  religion,  which  amounts  to  the  same 
thing." 

"  That's  true.  Nothing  but  religion  can  keep  a  man  out  of 
it,  and  religion  does  not  always.  There's  not  a  man  in  the  senior 
class,  in  fact,  except  you  and  Henry,  and  the  charities,  that  does 
not  dissipate.  See  all  those  fellows  in  our  division  that  joined  the 
Church  last  spring  during  the  revival.  This  winter  two-thirds  of 
them  have  been  disciplined  ;   and  the  other  third  ought  to  be. 


ALB AN . 


85 


There  is  little  Edwards,  and  Bob  Winthrop,  they  are  worse  than 
ever." 

"  I  have  pretty  much  lost  my  confidence  in  religion,"  said 
Alban,  as  if  impulsively.    "  I  ought  not  to  say  so  though." 

"  Lost  your  confidence  in  religion  !"  said  his  companion.  "So 
have  I.  All  the  intellectual  fellows  in  the  Senior  class  are  infi- 
dels. But  really,  Al,  I  did  not  expect  to  hear  it  from  you.  Why, 
do  you  know  what  they  say  of  you  ?  That  you  are  the  only 
sincere  professor  in  college,  except  some  of  the  charities.  You 
are  the  only  man  in  the  class  that  is  pious  and  popular  too." 

"  I  am  not  so  pious  as  you  think,"  replied  Alban. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  act  on  principle.  Come,  I  know  it,  if  no  one 
else  does." 

"  You  know.  Shepherd,  that  I  acted  as  principle  w^ould  have 
dictated  in  a  particular  instance,  but  after  all,  my  motive  may  have 
been  pride.  I  am  as  proud  as  Lucifer.  If  I  had  weaknesses  like 
Edwards  and  Winthrop,  I  should  be  very  careful  to  keep  them  to 
myself."  " 

"  No,  you  would  not,"  returned  Shepherd,  acutely.  "  Some 
fellows  might  ;  but  you  would  lose  that  kind  of  pride.  It  is  odd 
that  you  have  doubts  about  religion." 

"  I  have  none  about  morality,  Shepherd.  It  is  the  New 
Haven  theology  that  has  subverted  my  faith,  not  a  wish  to  live 
like  you  fellows." 

"  Professor    preaches  it  every  Sunday  morning  in  the 

chapel,  but  I  can't  say  that  I  know  the  difference  between  the 
New  Haven  theology  and  any  other.  What  is  it  ?  I  am  curious, 
if  it  has  made  you  skeptical."    Alban  bit  his  lip. 

"The  New  Haven  theology,"  he  replied,  after  a  moment's 
thought,  "  is,  that  we  are  not  sinners  till  vve  actually  sin." 

"  Why  do  we  sin  at  all  then  ?"  demanded  Shepherd,  waking  up. 

"  Because  the  will  always  follows  the  strongest  motive,"  re- 
plied Alban.  "  Consequently,  as  soon  as  the  will  begins  to  act, 
the  motives  to  sin  in  this  fallen  world  being  stronger  and  more 
evident  than  those  for  obedience,  we  sin." 

8 


86 


ALBAN. 


"  Why,  that's  what  our  fellows  say.  The  motives  to  vice 
being  so  much  stronger  than  those  to  virtue,  we  cannot  help 
faUing  into  it.    I  have  heard  Bob  Winthrop  say  so  fifty  times." 

"  He  is  a  good  theologian.  But  he  forgets  the  other  part  of 
the  theory,  which  is,  that  God  can  heap  the  virtue  scale  with 
motives  till  it  weighs  down  that  of  vice  ;  that  is  to  say,  He  can, 
by  His  Spirit,  so  present  to  the  eye  of  our  reason  the  supreme 
advantages  of  goodness,  that  we  mmt  choose  it: — which  pro- 
duces the  phenomenon  of  conversion." 

"  A  very  clear  explanation,"  said  Shepherd.  "  For  my  part, 
the  Spirit  has  never  presented  to  me  the  advantages  of  virtue  in 
that  irresistible  light.  On  the  contrary,  vice  appears  to  me  so 
sweet,  that,  as  Winthrop  says,  I  couldn't  give  it  up  if  I  were  sure 
of  going  to  hell  in  consequence." 

"  To  me  vice  is  repulsive,"  said  Alban. 

"  The  theory  seems  to  suit  you  exactly,  then.  How  has  it  sha- 
ken your  confidence  in  religion  ?  That  is  what  I  don't  understand." 

"  For  one  thing,  it  is  contrary  to  the  Bible.  And  for  another, 
Shepherd,  it  is  possible  to  be  very  far  from  inwardly  just  and  pure, 
without  being  plunged  into  the  mire  where  you  and  your  set 
wallow  like  unclean  animals  : — forgive  me." 

"Oh,  I'll  bear  any  thing  from  you.  Alb." 

"  How  it  is  possible,"  pursued  Alban,  "for  a  man  who  has 
sisters,  or  fair  cousins,  so  to  contaminate  his  eyes,  hands,  and  lips, 
and  make  himself  unfit  for  the  presence  of  modesty,  not  to  say 
the  pure  kiss  of  consanguinity,  passes  my  comprehension." 

"  Well,  I  wish  I  was  as  good  as  you,  Alb.  I  wouldn't  trouble 
my  head  much  about  theology." 

The  young  men  parted  at  North  College  to  seek  their  respect- 
ive entries.  Alban  paused  at  the  door  of  his,  and  gave  a  look  at 
the  chapel  porch.  The  bell  for  evening  prayers  was  just  begin- 
ning to  ring. 

"Certainly,"  said  he,  running  up  stairs  two  or  three  steps 
at  a  time, — "  certainly  I  will  go  to  the  Episcopal  church  to-mor- 
row morning  ;  come  what  will  of  it." 


ALB AN . 


87 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  "vvas  usual,  in  reference  to  the  monitor's  reports,  to  call  off  the 
delinquents  after  lecture,  and  hear  their  excuses.  Monday  morn-  ♦ 
iiig  the  Professor  performed  this  duty  as  usual.  A.  Atherton 
should  have  been  the  first  called  out,  but  the  Professor  began  at 
B.  Alban  thought  he  was  passed  over.  At  the  close,  however, 
the  Professor  observed — "  1  wish  to  speak  to  A.  Atherton."  Al- 
ban waited.  The  Professor  merely  said — "  Come  to  my  room 
after  tea.    I  want  to  see  you." 

The  Professor  was  a  young  man  who  had  been  tutor  of  Alban's 
division  till  the  class  completed  its  junior  year,  and  had  then  been 
elevated  to  his  present  position.  He  was  already  noted  as  an  able 
man,  and  has  since  attained  celebrity.  Alban  was  his  favorite. 
In  fact,  as  tutor,  Mr.  B.  had  indulged  him  too  much,  so  that  men 
said,  Atherton  might  do  what  he  liked,  no  notice  would  be  taken 
of  it. 

The  Professor  shook  hands  with  his  young  friend  and  pushed 
him  a  chair  by  the  blazing  Franklin. 

"  You  are  looking  very  well  this  term,  Atherton  ;  better,  I 
think,  than  any  other  man  in  the  class." 

"  Horseback  exercise  agrees  with  me  much  better  than  the 
gymnasium,  sir."  .  • 

"The  gymnasium  is  not  a  bad  thing  either.  I  remember 
when  I  was  a  Senior  and  could  practise  there,  my  muscles  were 
like  bundles  of  ropes.  I  felt  like  knocking  down  every  man  I 
met,  and  jumping  over  every  fence  I  passed."' 

Professor  B.  laughed  with  a  quiet,  intense  enjoyment  pecuhar 
to  him. 

"  Your  other  habits  agree  with  you  too,  eh  ?"  he  continued, 
"  I  like  to  see  such  clear  eyes  as  yours  in  a  Senior.  It  is  a  good 
sign." 


88 


AL  BAN . 


Alban  had  been  rather  ugly  for  a  couple  of  years,  but  he 
was  now  got  to  be  a  very  handsome  fellow  again.  His  features 
were  well-cut,  spirited,  and  of  a  poetical  cast.  His  blue  eye,  open, 
and  as  the  Professor  said,  very  clear.  The  brow  was  fit  to  en- 
chant Spurzheim,  and  the  masses  of  chestnut-hair  carelessly 
thrown  off  from  it,  slightly  tended  to  a  glossy  curl.  The  keen  eye 
of  the  Professor  scanned  this  fine  countenance  of  downy  nineteen 
by  the  shaded  light  of  his  study  lamp. 

"  You  were  absent  from  chapel  yesterday  morning,  Atherton. 
I  did  not  wa>nt  to  call  you  up  before  all  those  dissipated  and  irre- 
ligious classmates  of  yours  ;  not  that  I  doubted  you  had  a  good 
excuse,  but  because  it  was  better,"  said  the  Professor,  slightly 
laughing  again,  "  that  they  should  not  know  you  needed  one." 

"  I  went  to  the  Episcopal  church  yesterday  morning,"  said 
Alban,  quietly. 

"  Umph  !  You  had  forgotten,  I  suppose,  that  it  was  Sacra- 
ment Sunday." 

"  Does  that  make  any  difference,  sir,"  said  Alban,  with  a 
demure,  but  penetrating  glance  at  the  professor. 

"  Why — why — the  violation  of  the  college  rule  in  being  absent 
from  chapel  without  permission, of  course  is  the  same." 

"  I  thought  so,"  observed  Alban.  "  I  have  been  often  absent 
before,  but  never  was  questioned  about  it,  although,  I  suppose,  the 
monitor  did  not  fail  to  report  me." 

"  Yes,  but  you  were  never  absent  on  a  Sacrament  Sunday 
before." 

"  No,  sir  ;  but  you  have  just  said  (pardon  me)  that  that  does 
not  make  the  breach  of  college  rules  any  worse." 

The  Professor  was  a  little  embarrassed,  and  perhaps  somewhat 
displeased.    There  was  a  profound  silence  of  some  minutes. 

"  You  have  many  privileges,  Atherton,  which  are  accorded  to 
you  because  it  is  known  you  will  not  abuse  them.  You  have 
been  tacitly  allowed  to  attend  church  in  town  without  asking 
permission  on  every  particular  occasion  ;  I  wish  you  to  continue 
to  do  so  ;  but  perhaps  you  have  not  considered  that  your  absence 


A  L  B  A  N  . 


89 


on  a  Sacrament  Sunday  may  have  a  bad  effect.  Your  influence 
is  very  great,  Atherton." 

"  I  staid  away  purposely,  sir.  I  have  felt  a  great  reluctance 
for  some  time  to  come  to  communion." 

"  You  surprise  me.    But  why  ?" 

Atherton  did  not  reply.  The  professor  waited  for  him  a 
while,  and  continued  : 

"  It  is  hardly  possible  that  you  can  be  affected  with  those 
morbid  doubts  of  your  conversion  to  which  some  are  subject. 
Your  mind  is  too  healthy." 

"  Oh,  I  adopt  the.  New  Haven  system,  sir,  so  far  as  that.  I 
think  conversion  is  an  act  of  the  will.  If  I  thought  I  had  never 
yet  submitted  to  God,  I  would  submit  now.  My  mind  was  made 
up  long  ago  that  if  there  really  were  such  a  thing  as  being  a 
Christian  I  would  be  one." 

"  So  I  supposed,"  said  the  Professor,  cheerfully.  "  We  have 
talked  these  things  over  before,  Alban,  and  always  seemed  to 
agree." 

"  My  doubts,"  said  Alban,  clearing  his  voice  a  little,  but 
speaking  huskily  after  all, — "  my  doubts — respect  the  truth  of  the 
Christian  religion  itself" 

"  You  have  been  reading  Gibbon,  perhaps  ?"  said  the  Professor, 
in  a  low  tone. 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  any  books  that  have  made  me  skeptical,"  said 
Alban,  speaking  more  freely.  "It  is  my  becoming  a  Taylorite, 
sir,  that  has  led  to  it.  Ever  since  Dr.  Taylor's  sermons  in  the 
revival  last  winter,  I  have  been  working  the  system  out  by 
myself." 

"  You  are  a  very  young  man,  Atherton.  Nineteen  last  sum- 
mer, I  think  I  Last  winter,  is  it  ?  You  are  very  clever,  I  know, 
but  this  is  a  disease  of  your  age,  not  a  legitimate  conclusion  of 
your  intellect.  You  will  outgrow  it.  I  have  gone  through  the 
same  thing,  myself." 

"But  I  cannot  go  to  the  communion  while  I  feel  these 
doubts,"  said  Alban,  with  a  look  of  distress. 

8* 


90 


ALB AN, 


**  Have  you  mentioned  the  matter  to  any  one  else  ?"  inquired 
the  Professor. 

"  Yesterday  I  let  something  fall  to  Shepherd,  unguardedly. 
My  mind  is  so  full  of  it.  It  requires  considerable  self-command 
to  keep  it  in." 

"  I  hope  you  will  keep  it  strictly  to  yourself.  It  would  injure 
you,  Atherton,  very  much,  to  have  it  known  that  you  feel  such 
doubts,  which,  I  repeat,  you  will  outgrow  ;  and  it  would  injure 
the  cause  of  religion  in  College  still  more.  As  for  coming  to  the 
Sacrament,"  added  the  Professor,  "  it  will  be  two  months,  you 
know,  before  there  will  be  another  occasion.  By  that  time,  I 
trust,  your  doubts  will  be  removed,  but  if  not,  stay  away.  You 
shall  not  be  troubled.    Take  time,  and  do  not  commit  yourself." 

The  unburdening  of  his  mind,  and  the  Professor's  kind  (though 
certainly  also  politic)  treatment,  softened  Alban.     He  shed  tears. 

"  And  pray,  what  logical  sequence  have  you  discovered,"  asked 
his  friend,  by  way  of  diverting  his  attention,  "  between  New  En- 

glandism,  as  B  calls  it,  and  a  skeptical  conclusion  ?    Give  us 

your  syllogism." 

Alban  was  at  first  unwilling  to  bring  forward  his  difficulties  ; 
but  when  the  Professor  remarked  that  Christianity  ought  not  to 
be  made  to  stand  or  fall  with  the  doctrine  of  any  school,  he  was 
drawn  out. 

"I  have  always  believed  Christianity,"  he  said,  "because  I 
had  been  taught  it  from  a  child.  And  I  believed  it  just  as  I  was 
taught  it  :  the  hardest  doctrines  as  well  as  the  simplest.  The 
Trinity,  election,  particular  redemption,  and  the  eternal  damnation 
of  non-elect  infants,  were,  or  would  have  been,  just  as  easy  for  me 
to  believe  as  the  inspiration  of  the  Bible  or  the  sanctity  of  the 
Sabbath.  I  put  no  difference  between  doctrine  and  doctrine.  I 
believed  them  altogether." 

"  I  dare  say.  That  could  not  last,  of  course,"  said  the 
Professor. 

"  That's  just  it,  sir.  Dr.  Taylor  and  President  Edwards  over- 
threw my  faith  in  Regeneration.    Dr.  Taylor  uses  the  word  Regen- 


AL  B AN . 


91 


eration,  but  he  denies  and  disproves  the  thing.  The  revival  last 
winter  was  conducted  on  the  principle  of  the  young  men  needing 
to  be  converted,  not  to  be  regenerated.  We  all,  following  the 
Dr.'s  lead,  urged  the  unconverted  to  make  an  act  of  submission  to 
God.     We  set  before  them  the  motives.     That  is  the  line  I  took 

with  F  and  C  ." 

"  I  remember  your  zeal." 

"  But,  sir,  when  1  had  succeeded  in  converting  them,  I  found 
I  had  lost  my  faith.  I  had  before  supposed  myself  to  have  under- 
gone a  mysterious  change  in  the  substance  of  my  soul,  when  I 
experienced  rehgion.  I  had  now  learned  to  understand  it  as  a 
change  in  my  will  under  the  influence  of  motives.  I  could  not  hold 
this  theory  as  I  used  to  hold  the  other.  I  have  been  forced,  con- 
sequently, to  enter  into  an  examination  of  every  other  point  of  my 
religion.    Now,  I  do  not  feel  sure  of  any  thing." 

"  I  must  suggest  to  the  President  to  begin  the  lectures  on  the 
evidences,"  said  the  Professor.  "  You  have  never  studied  the 
evidences,  Atherton." 

"  I  am  looking  forward  to  that  to  restore  Tsiy  faith  again,"  said 
Alban. 


92 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Alban  was  President  of  the  Brothers  in  Unity.  This  is  the  most 
ancient  of  three  literary  societies  which  exist  in  the  hosom  of  Yale. 
The  Presidents,  who  are  chosen  every  term,  and  are  not  re-eligible, 
must  be  always  of  the  Senior  class.  The  most  honorable  presidency 
is  that  of  the  first  or  autumnal  term,  which  is,  indeed,  the  most 
brilliant  of  intra-collegiate  distinctions.  A  profound  secrecy,  how- 
ever, is  observed  in  regard  to  all  that  passes  within  the  Societies, 
by  their  respective  members.  The  names  of  the  Presidents  and 
other  officers,  the  subjects  of  debate,  the  decisions,  the  writers  and 
performers  at  their  exhibitions,  and  the  time  of  the  latter  coming 
off,  are  spoken  of  only  s,uh  rosa.  They  are  all  facts  which 
transpire,  at  least  in  process  of  time,  but  even  then  are  not  openly 
admitted  by  members  of  the  Society.  This  mystery  wonderfully 
heightens  the  interest  inspired  by  these  venerable  institutions.  No 
member  of  the  Faculty  can  ever  be  present  at  a  debate  ;  but  the 
exhibitions,  one  in  each  term,  being  principally  dramatic  entertain- 
ments, are  usually  graced  by  the  presence,  not  only  of  the  Professors, 
but,  at  a  second  performance,  held  specially  in  their  favor,  of  the 
ladies  of  New  Haven.  The  Societies  all  possess  fine  libraries  and 
beautiful  rooms. 

Alban  left  his  room  in  North  College,  as  usual,  one  Wednesday 
evening,  after  tea  in  Commons,  to  attend  the  regular  weekly  meet- 
ing of  his  Society.  He  was  soon  joined  by  classmates  sallying  forth 
with  the  same  purpose.  The  night  was  cold,  the  stars  shining 
keenly  through  the  leafless  trees,  as  they  went  down  Chapel-street. 
The  Brothers'  room  was  in  the  town,  at  a  considerable  distance 
from  the  colleges. 

"  How  clear  it  is,"  said  Alban. 

*'  Yes,  I  wish  it  would  snow,"  replied  his  companion.    "  I 


AL  BAN. 


93 


want  to  have  a  sleigh-ride  with  a  whole  lot  of  young  ladies.  You 
used  to  go  last  winter,  Atherlon  ?" 
"  Never." 

"  Oh,  you  are  not  a  ladies'  man.  It  is  capital  fun.  "We  dash 
over  to  East  Haven  in  no  time  ;  run  by  moonlight,  or  the  Aurora, 
some  dozen  miles  in  about  an  hour,  and  then  get  a  supper  of  oys- 
ters and  mulled  wine,  which  makes  the  dear  creatures  as  lively 
as  possible  coming  back.  You  are  all  snug  and  warm  together 
under  fifty  buffalo  robes,  you  know." 

"  And  you  sit  by  the  young  lady  you  are  in  love  with,  I  sup- 
pose, Winthrop  ?" 

"  Provided  she  is  pretty,  I  don't  much  care  who  it  is." 

"  No  ?  I  should  fancy  that  would  make  all  the  difference  in 
the  world,"  said  Alban. 

"  There  are  so  many  of  us  what  is  called  in  love  with  the 
same  girl,  that  some  of  us  must  be  disappointed,"  rejoined  a  com- 
panion at  Alban's  other  arm. 

"  I  have  heard  that  Miss  Ellsworth  is  very  much  admired," 
said  Alban. 

"  The  new  belle — Miss  De  Groot  of  New  York — cuts  her  out 
en-tirely,"  said  Winthrop  "  Half  the  Senior  class  are  desperately 
in  love  with  Miss  De  Groot.  Perhaps  you  know  her.  Alb,  as  you 
are  from  New  York." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Alban,  half  contemptuously. 

"  Don't  say  any  thing  to  Atherton  about  Miss  De  Groot,  I 
beg,"  said  his  other  companion. 

"  You  must  go  to  the  fair  next  week,"  persisted  Winthrop. 
"  It  is  for  the  new  church,  you  know.  Miss  De  Groot  and  Miss 
Ellsworth  will  both  have  tables,  and  you  can  inspect  and  com- 
pare them  at  your  leisure." 

"  No,  don't  you  go,  Atherton  ;  they  will  only  take  all  your 
spare  cash  for  mere  nonsense." 

"  I  certainly  can't  afford  to  go  to  fairs  where  beautiful  young 
ladies  take  tables,"  said  Alban,  innocently  laughing  as  they 
mounted  the  stairs  of  the  Society's  rooms. 


94 


ALB AN. 


"  St.  Clair,  they  say,  is  smitten  in  the  worst  way  with  Miss 
De  Groot,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  What,  George  I  Well,  perhaps,  I  ivill  go  in  that  case — to 
take  care  of  iny  cousin's  pocket." 

The  room  of  the  Brothers'  Society  was  a  long  and  lofty 
chamber  with  a  coved  ceiling.  About  the  middle  of  the  room, 
opposite  the  doors  of  entrance,  was  the  raised  tribune  for  the 
President's  chair,  rich  with  cushions,  curtains,  and  canopy  of  crim- 
son damask.  Below  and  in  front  of  it  was  a  long  table.  The 
settees  for  the  members  were  ranged  in  rows  on  either  side, 
leaving  the  carpeted  space  in  front  of  the  tribune  free.  The 
apartment  was  well  lighted  by  gilt  lamp-chandeliers,  the  windows 
at  the  extremities  hung  with  crimson,  the  walls  adorned  with 
handsomely  framed  engravings.  Perhaps  fifty  young  men  were 
already  assembled  when  Alban  and  his  companions  entered. 
They  talked  freely,  but  not  loud,  till  some  one  moved  that  the 
President  take  the  chair. 

There  was  considerable  miscellaneous  business,  during  the 
transaction  of  which  the  room  gradually  filled.  The  first 
literary  order  of  the  evening  was  then  announced  to  be  a  criti- 
cism by  Mr.  E.  0.  Dwight,  of  the  Senior  class.  A  tall,  awkward, 
black-haired  youth,  with  a  very  sardonic  expression  and  an  open 
shirt-collar,  advanced  to  the  green  table  in  front  of  the  President's 
desk,  seated  himself  at  it,  took  out  a  manuscript  tied  with  pink 
ribbons,  and  announced  that  his  subject  was  "  Don  Juan,  a  Poem 
by  Lord  Byron." 

Very  great  attention  was  paid  to  the  reading  of  this  criticism. 
The  critic  made  an  able  analysis  of  the  poem,  extolled  the  flexi- 
bility of  the  style,  the  wondrous  facility  of  versification,  the  force 
of  the  descriptions,  the  rapid  movement  and  natural  conduct  of 
the  story,  its  irresistible  humor,  its  pathos,  the  beauty  of  the  ideas 
it  suggested.  Above  all,  he  became  enthusiastic  in  giving  a  vivid 
prose  transcript  of  the  character  and  story  of  Haidee, — the  imper- 
sonation of  love  under  its  double  aspect  of  ardor  and  disinterest- 
edness.   Removing  entirely  from  our  thoughts,  he  said,  all  pro- 


AL  B AN . 


95 


fane  associations  and  every  base  desire,  it  was  so  that,  in  idea 
every  one  must  wish  to  love  and  be  loved.  Then  he  passed  to 
the  consideration  of  the  imputed  immorality  of  the  poem  ;  he 
admitted  that  it  contained  some  freedoms,  but  he  maintained  that 
it  was  the  freedom  of  vitality  ;  that  the  story,  as  it  stood,  was  but 
a  transcript,  fresh  and  original,  yet  of  a  more  than  mirror-like 
fidelity,  from  life  itself.  He  compared  the  reviewers  who  thus 
declaimed  at  the  morality  of  this  exquisite  and  unrivalled  poem 
to  those  coarse  critics  of  art,  who,  standing  before  the  Venus  of  the 
Tribune,  forgot  all  the  matchless  charm  of  those  outlines  which 
the  divine  Artist  Himself  had  primarily  evoked  out  of  all  beauti- 
ful possibilities  into  actual  existence,  to  gloat  over  and  point  at 
the  circumstance  of  the  statue's  nudity.  The  critic  was  often, 
interrupted,  especially  at  the  last,  by  lively  marks  of  approbation, 
and  closed  amid  general  applause. 

This  choice  of  subject,  its  treatment,  and  the  reception  it  met 
■with,  were  highly  indicative,  no  doubt,  of  the  prevalent  sentiment 
in  the  most  orthodox  of  New  England  Colleges  ;  yet  it  would  be 
wrong  to  suppose  that  all  the  audience  shared  in  the  sentiments 
of  the  majority.  A  good  many  grave,  and  for  the  most  part, 
rustic-looking,  yet  not  unscholarly  young  men,  some  of  them  pale 
and  spectacled,  looked  or  whispered  disapprobation.  The  features 
of  the  young  President  were  illumined  with  a  smile,  half  of  sym- 
pathy and  half  of  dissent.  He  bent  down  and  said  something  in 
the  ear  of  the  secretary,  while  the  renewed  plaudits  of  the  Society 
accompanied  the  critic  to  his  place,  and  then  announced  with 
calmness  the  business  of  the  evening — the  "  Catholic  debale." 

"  The  question  before  the  Society  for  debate  this  evening,  is 
the  following  :  '  Does  the  probable  increase  of  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic rehgion  in  the  United  States,  by  conversion  and  immigration, 
threaten  the  liberties  of  America  V  The  secretaries  will  read 
the  names  of  the  gentlemen  appointed  to  debate." 

There  were  eight  names,  two  from  each  class,  of  whom  four 
had  been  appointed  to  sustain  the  affirmative,  and  four  the  nega- 
tive of  the  question.    They  were  called  up  in  order,  beginning 


96 


ALBAN. 


with  the  two  Freshmen,  neither  of  whom,  though  present,  an- 
swered to  their  names.  It  was  not  expected  of  these  new 
members  to  flesh  their  maiden  swords  so  soon.  Both  the  Sophs 
appeared,  and  argued  with  their  usual  self-sufficiency.  The 
negator  of  the  proposition  took  the  line  of  denying  that  such  an 
increase  of  Popery  teas  probable,  and  consequently  that  it  could 
endanger  American  liberty.  The  Society  listened  with  evident 
languor. 

The  Juniors  followed.  The  affirmative  here  was  a  debater 
of  rare  powers.  It  was  a  sallow  man  of  about  eight  and  twenty, 
with  a  slender  body  and  a  massive  head  already  inclining  to  bald- 
ness. This  young  man's  eye  was  black  and  piercing,  his  voice 
deep  and  sonorous.  He  drew  a  fearful  picture  of  Popery  as  the 
ally  of  European  despotism,  and  then  proceeded  with  masterly 
array  of  causal  analysis  to  show  that  this  feature  of  Romanism 
sprang  from  the  essential  principles  of  the  Catholic  Church  in 
regard  to  faith  and  opinion.  It  was  necessary,  he  observed,  to 
seize  the  radical  diflerence  between  Protestantism  and  Catholr- 
cism,  in  order  to  comprehend  the  diflerence  of  their  results. 
Protestant  faith  was  the  result  of  rational  examination  ;  Catholic 
faith  was  the  submission  of  reason  itself  to  infaUible  authority. 
There  was  no  doctrine  of  religion  so  sacred  but  the  consistent 
Protestant  dared  to  subject  it  to  the  test  of  rational  inquiry  ;  there 
was  no  dogma  of  the  Church  so  absurd  in  the  eye  of  reason  or 
so  contradictory  to  experience,  but  the  consistent  Catholic  must 
receive  it  with  unquestioning  submission.  It  was  from  the  dia- 
metrical opposition  of  the  interior  states  thus  produced — the  men- 
tal independence  of  the  one,  and  the  subjection  of  the  moral  and 
rational  powers  themselves  in  the  other,  to  an  external  law — that 
their  opposite  political  spirit  necessarily  derived.  The  Protestant 
would  submit  to  no  law  which  did  not  virtually  emanate  from  his 
own  free  choice  :  the  Catholic,  on  the  contrary,  would  be  as  ready 
to  submit  to  God  governing  him  by  another's  will,  as  to  God 
teaching  him  by  another's  inteUigence.  "  Our  institutions,"  con- 
cluded the  speaker,  "  are  but  the  political  blossoms  of  our  religion  ; 


A  L  B  A  N  . 


97 


when  we  cease  to  be  Protestants  we  shall  cease  to  be  internally 
republicans  ;  and  no  institution  can  long  survive  after  the  spirit 
which  it  represented  has  passed  away." 

The  other  Junior  rose  impetuously  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
President's  chair,  without  waiting  to  be  called.  His  appearance 
presented  a  contrast  to  his  opponent  in  every  respect.  He  was  of 
Herculean  frame,  with  a  sanguine  complexion,  light  blue  eyes, 
and  auburn  hair.  His  features  were  handsome  but  peculiar,  and, 
in  that  company,  unique.  The  moment  that  he  said  "  Mr.  Presi- 
dent," with  great  distinctness,  you  perceived  that  his  Celtic  physi- 
ognomy did  not  belie  him. 

"  Mr.  President,"  he  said,  "  I  myself  have  the  honor  to  be  a 
Catholic,  and  I  feel  therefore  the  greater  pleasure  in  refuting  en- 
tirely the  observations  of  the  gentleman  who  has  preceded  me, 
whose  premises,  sir,  are  all  correct,  but  they  prove  the  very  re- 
verse of  his  conclusion."  Here  there  was  a  general  laugh,  in 
which  the  Irishman  good-naturedly  joined. 

This  imported  American  was,  in  short,  at  the  same  time  a 
Catholic  (the  only  one  in  the  society)  and  an  ardent  republican. 
There  was  not  a  great  deal  of  argument  in  what  he  said,  but  a 
great  deal  of  fervent  assertion,  which,  with  many,  had  all  the 
effect.  If  he  did  not  prove  his  view,  he  at  least  illustrated  it 
with  infinite  humor  and  eloquence,  and  sat  down  amid  lively 
applause.  These  were  the  interesting  speakers  of  the  night,  for 
the  two  Seniors  were  heavy.  Each  of  the  regular  debaters  was 
allowed  a  reply,  which  did  not  occupy  much  time,  and  then  the 
question  was  thrown  open  to  the  Society.  Half  a  dozen  spoke  on. 
it.  Tv/o  or  three  of  the  speeches  were  highly  interesting.  The 
points  made  on  the  affirmative  side  were,  the  restriction  of  men- 
tal liberty  by  the  Catholic  Church — the  anti-democratic  constitu- 
tion of  the  Hierarchy — the  claim  of  dominion  over  the  conscience 
— the  known  opposition  of  the  Church  to  the  diffusion  of  knowl- 
edge— the  actual  ignorance  and  superstition  of  the  mass  of  Catho- 
lics— and  the  general  tendency  of  the  human  mind  to  a  blind 
faith  and  passive  obedience,  of  which  the  Church  would  not  fail  to 

9 


98 


ALBAN. 


take  advantage,  and  which  would  prevent  her  policy  from  being 
essentially  modified  in  the  new  world.  On  the  negative,  it  was 
contended  that  Catholicism  had  more  to  fear  from  the  general 
Protestantism  of  the  American  people  than  they  from  it — that  it 
could  not  stand  before  our  universal  intelligence  and  education — 
that  the  children  of  Catholic  emigrants  did  not  grow  up  in  \he 
ignorance  of  their  fathers — that,  in  hue,  vast  numbers  of  the  emi- 
grants themselves  were  already  hot  republicans,  and  that  even  in 
Europe  the  downfall  of  Popery  and  monarchy  both  was  surely 
at  hand.  Except  on  the  part  of  our  Irish  friend,  of  whom  it  was 
almost  assumed  that  he  could  not  really  believe  his  ostensible 
religion,  there  was  not  an  intimation — not  a  suspicion  was  ever 
so  distantly  expressed  by  the  speakers  on  either  side — that  the 
religion  whose  political  tendency  they  were  discussing  could  be 
otherwise  than  false.    That  point  was  taken  for  granted  by  all. 

The  Society  now  became  hushed  and  still,  to  hear  the  Pre.si- 
dent's  decision.  Alban  had  occasionally  made  a  note  during  the 
debate,  and  he  began  by  summing  up  the  arguments  on  both 
sides  with  great  fairness  and  precision.  Each  debater  felt  that 
more  justice  was  done  him  than  he  had  done  himself  Without 
any  thing  original  in  this  part  of  the  decision,  it  was  at  the  same 
time  so  flowing  in  utterance  and  so  accurate  in  style  as  to  enchain 
the  attention.    You  might  hear  a  pin  drop. 

But  next  was  to  come  the  President's  own  view,  and  it  was 
thought  that  Atherton's  were  sometimes  almost  inspired.  The 
question  before  them,  he  said,  looking  round  on  the  Society,  in- 
volved two  problems,  each  of  which  had  exhausted  the  resources 
of  genius  in  its  attempted  solution,  and  which  transcended  all 
others  in  interest,  viz. :  the  true  origin  of  religion  and  the  true 
origin  of  government.  It  was  necessary,  he  thought,  to  ascend 
higher  than  had  been  done  in  the  debate,  and  ask  whence  politi- 
cal liberty  was  derived  ; — was  it  an  acquired  or  a  natural  right  ? 
"Were  we  entitled  to  our  inestimable  franchises,  as  men,  or  had  we 
inherited  them  as  glorious  and  distinguishing  privileges  from  our 
special  ancestors,  as  the  fruit  and  the  reward  of  their  virtue,  over 


ALB AN . 


99 


and  above  other  nations  and  other  men  ?  Had  the  JSTegro  or  the 
Hindoo,  strictly  speaking,  the  same  right  to  freedom  as  ourselves  ? 
For  his  part,  he  was  not  willing  to  concede  that  freedom,  political 
or  personal,  was  a  natural  right  of  the  human  being  since  the 
Fall,  and  it  appeared  to  him  that  the  theories  which  claimed  it, 
were  over-boastful,  infidel,  and  practically  ignored  the  corrupt 
and  forfeit  state  of  human  nature.  (Here  there  were  murmurs  of 
dissent,  mixed  with  applause.)  "  As  an  American  freeman,"  said 
the  young  President,  firmly,  "  I  do  not  stand  on  the  natural  rights 
of  man — I  disdain  such  a  source  of  my  franchises — but  on  the 
hereditary  privileges  of  the  race  from  which  I  have  the  honor 
and  happiness  to  be  descended.  We  Englishmen  of  the  New 
AYorld  are  not  freedmen,  but  free  born  I — generosi^  not  libertini  I 
The  question  before  us  this  evening,  gentlemen,  is,  whether  the 
increase  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  in  America  threatens  the 
subversion  of  those  hereditary  privileges  of  ours, — of  what  I  may 
call  that  ancient  freedom,  which  is  the  haughty  heir-loom  of  the 
great  Anglo-Saxon  race."  Lively  and  general  applause  followed 
this  adroit  popular  turn. 

Alban  then  proceeded  to  treat  as  trivial  and  evasive  the 
ground  assumed  by  the  negative  of  the  question,  that  Romanism, 
namely,  was  not  likely  to  spread  in  America.  The  probability  of 
this  increase  of  Popery  was  taken  for  granted,  at  least  as  an  hy- 
pothesis, by  the  terms  of  the  question,  and  the  effects  of  such  an 
increase  on  our  liberties  were  the  only  fair  domain  of  the  debate. 
He  might  add  that  it  was  the  only  interesting  one  for  them  to 
discuss,  and  he  marvelled  that  only  one  individual  had  been  found 
to  defend  the  paradox,  that  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  was  the 
natural  ally  of  the  people  against  power,  and  the  bulwark  of 
civil  and  religious  liberty.  He  thought  that  more  might  have 
been  said  in  defence  of  this  position.  It  was  sustained  by  some 
striking  facts  in  the  History  of  Europe,  and  it  was  in  accordance 
with  that  theory  of  political  freedom  which  he  had  vindicated  as 
the  most  sound.  A  society  which  rested  on  prescription  was  the 
natural  advocate  of  all  acquired  privileges,  but  it  would  by  instinct, 


100 


ALB AN. 


defend  chiefly  the  rights  which  belonged  to  the  bulk  of  its  members, 
and  in  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  that  was  the  people.  Thus  it 
was  that  the  Church  had  exerted  itself  with  such  irresistible  force 
to  abolish  servitude.  As  for  liberty  of  religious  opinion,  he 
thought  it  might  be  justly  contended  on  the  side  of  the  Roman 
Catholics,  that  no  one  could  ever  acquire  the  right  to  believe  a 
false  doctrine,  or  disbelieve  a  revealed  truth,  consequently  it  never 
could  be  a  violation  of  any  right  to  punish  the  obstinate  advo- 
cates of  religious  error. 

"  In  truth,  gentlemen,"  continued  Alban,  "  it  has  struck  me 
painfully  to  hear  it  said  this  evening,  that  the  Roman  Catholic 
religion  alone  demands  of  its  votary  a  submission  of  the  reason  to 
the  authority  of  faith.  What,  then,  shall  we  say  of  the  doctrine 
of  the  Trinity,  or  of  that  of  the  Incarnation?  We  believe  them 
because  we  think  we  find  them  in  the  Bible,  and  we  believe  the 
Bible  to  be  the  Word  of  God.  What  difference  in  point  of  principle 
is  there  between  this  and  believing  what  the  Church  teaches,  be- 
cause we  believe  the  Church  to  be  the  living  Prophet  of  God? 
I  may  doubt  the  infallibility  of  the  Church,  and  may  doubt  the 
inspiration  of  the  Scriptures,  but  to  accept  either,  or  hoth,  involves 
precisely  the  same  submission  of  reason  to  faith  ;  and  if  that  sub- 
mission be  incompatible  with  our  spiritual  freedom,  then  all  reve- 
lation is  a  miserable  imposture."  Here  the  applause  was  warm 
but  partial. 

"  I  conclude,  therefore,  gentlemen,"  said  Alban,  "as  I  began, 
that  this  question  is  not  capable  of  being  solved,  without  running 
it  up  higher,  and  discussing  the  truth  of  the  Roman  Catholic  re- 
ligion itself  A  fahe  claim  to  teach  in  God's  name,  must,  if  it 
succeed,  produce  all  the  pernicious  results  which  have  ever  at- 
tended religious  imposture.  The  first  result  will  be  a  false  faith  ; 
the  next  will  be  a  great  depravity  of  manners  ;  the  next  will  be 
a  loss  of  all  those  institutions  from  which  the  life  will  then  have 
departed,  of  those  privileges  won  by  virtue,  which  vice  will  have 
rendered  hateful.  It  is  thus,  gentlemen,  that  kingdoms  as  well  as 
republics  have  ever  fallen ;  and  it  needs  no  argument  to  prove, 


ALBAN. 


101 


that  if  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  be  false,  which,  however,  it 
would  be  very  unbecoming  in  me,  in  this  place,  to  assume,  its  tri- 
umph in  America  would  render  our  liberties  nominal,  even  though 
our  government  should  still  be  administered,  like  Rome  under  the 
Caesars,  with  all  the  empty  forms  of  popular  sovereignty." 

The  moment  the  decision  was  finished,  men  began  to  go  out, 
and  during  the  brief  business  that  followed,  such  as  choosing  new 
questions,  appointing  debaters,  &c.,  the  room  thinned  so  rapidly, 
that  at  the  moment  of  adjournment  scarcely  a  score  of  members 
remained.  It  was  after  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  town  was  still,  the 
shops  closed  ;  the  empty  streets  echoed  only  to  the  regular  tread, 
and  occasional  voices  of  the  young  men  returning  to  the  colleges. 

"  Atherton  gave  a  splendid  decision  to-night,"  said  one. 

"  Splendid  I  but  rather  anti-republican,  eh?" 

*'  Rather  anti-protestant,  I  thought." 

"  Baker,  and  the  other  religious  fellows,  looked  a  little  blank  at 
some  parts  of  it,  I  noticed." 

"Yes,  I  saw  Baker  staring  at  Atherton  through  his  spectacles, 
with  his  great  mouth  Avide  open." 

"  Ha  I  ha  I  Well,  suppose  we  go  to  E's,  and  open  our 
mouths  for  some  champagne  and  oysters." 

Omnes.    "  Agreed." 


102 


AL  B AN. 


CHAPTER  \r. 

"When  money  is  wanted  to  pay  off  the  debt  of  a  cliurch,  or  for 
any  other  object  of  piety  or  benevolence,  the  unfaihng  resource, 
at  least  if  it  has  not  been  already  tried  too  often,  is  a  Fair.  The 
New  Haven  ladies  had  had  several  fairs,  but  then  they  could 
very  well  have  one  at  least  once  in  four  years,  as.  they  would  be 
sure  at  any  rate  of  its  being  a  novelty  to  all  the  under  graduates, 
upon  whose  patronage  they  naturally  a  good  deal  rely.  The  one 
now  in  contemplation  was  for  the  benefit  of  a  new  Episcopal 
church  ;  but  those  were  days  of  liberality,  when  the  high  claim 
of  exclusive  spiritual  jurisdiction  had  not  excited  the  alarm  and 
indignation  of  Congregationalist  New  England  ;  and  the  Congre- 
galionalist  ladies  of  New  Haven  worked  as  hard  as  those  con- 
nected with  the  Church,  to  produce  articles  for  the  approaching 
sale. 

The  important  day  at  length  arrived.  The  ball-room  of  the 
Tontine  was  the  place,  and  very  tastefully  was  it  arranged.  A 
party  of  students,  pressed  into  the  service  by  irresistible  sohcita- 
tions,  had  hung  the  walls  with  green  festoons.  The  private  con- 
servatories contributed  fresh  flowers ;  and  the  tables  groaned 
under  piles  of  pincushions,  pen-wipers,  pocket-books,  purses,  and 
guard-chains.  There  was  a  post-office  where  letters  could  be  re- 
ceived on  inquiry,  charged  with  a  postage  of  half  a-doUar  apiece  ; 
and  a  fortune-teller,  who  required  you  to  cross  your  hand  at  least 
with  a  dollar  bill.  In  the  evening,  the  sale-room  was  brilliantly 
lighted  up,  and  at  that  hour — the  crowd  being  greatest — the 
tables  were  tended  by  some  two  dozen  of  the  prettiest  girls  in  New 
Haven,  "  of  all  denominations."  These  saucy  tradeswomen,  who 
were  in  pairs  to  keep  each  other  in  countenance,  made  it  a 
rule  never  to  give  change.  A  perpetual  stream  was  flowing  up 
and  down  the  Tontine  staircase,  and  at  the  door  the  squeeze 


AL  B AN . 


103 


was  so  great  that  it  was  almost  a  fighting  matter  to  get  in  or 
out. 

Alban  went  with  George  St.  Clair  ;  but  when  they  had 
reached  the  top  of  the  stairs  they  were  speedily  separated.  St. 
Clair  pushed  on,  mercilessly  crushing  some  ladies  who  were  try- 
ing to  get  in,  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  crushing  the  founda- 
tion muslin  of  their  enormous  sleeves,  (then  the  tasteless  rage,) 
while  Alban  held  back,  and,  indeed,  twice  ceded  his  own  chance 
of  entrance  in  favor  of  a  gentle  struggler,  more  anxious  about  her 
silken  wings  than  her  slender  person.  But  at  last  he  was  re- 
warded by  being  borne  softly  on  in  the  very  midst  of  a  whole 
party. 

Our  hero  went  so  little  into  society  that  he  knew  none  of  the 
damsels  behind  the  tables,  and  he  moved  round  the  room  without 
venturing  to  stop,  because  he  felt  an  awkwardness  in  buying  any 
thing  of  a  young  lady  to  whom  he  had  never  been  introduced. 
At  length,  however,  he  was  addressed  by  one  who  was  already 
surrounded  by  customers. 

"  What,  Mr.  Atherton,  are  you  going  to  pass  my  stall  without 
buying  even  a  guard -chain  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Alban,  coloring,  but  making  an  effort  to 
appear  at  ease,  "  unless  your  price  is  too  extravagant." 

"  They  are  of  all  prices  to  suit  customers,"  said  the  young 
lady.  "  This  is  five  dollars,  and  this,"  holding  up  one  exactly 
similar,  "  is  only  one.    Take  your  choice." 

"  I  take  the  cheapest,"  said  Alban,  paying  for  it. 

"Oh,  but  surely  you  will  buy  something  else  of  me,  Mr.  Ath- 
erton. See,  here  is  the  prettiest  watch-pocket ;  'tis  but  two 
dollars,  and  worked  by  me — no,  by  Miss  De  Groot.  She  will  add 
your  initials  and  send  it  you  without  any  additional  charge.  Of 
course  you  will  take  it." 

"  Why,  of  what  use  is  it  ?"  asked  Alban.  "  I  carry  my 
watch  in  my  waistcoat.  Certainly  I  can't  need  a  guard-chain 
and  a  watch-pocket  too." 

The  young  lady  laughed. 


104 


ALBAN. 


"  You  affect  ignorance,  Mr.  Atherton,  to  make  me  explain.  I 
am  sure  you  know  what  a  watch-pocket  is  for  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  Not  I,  upon  my  honor,  unless  it  be  to  carry  a  watch,"  said 
Alban,  with  a  puzzled  air. 

"  Really,  I  must  tell  Miss  De  Groot.  Mary,"  turning  to  her 
partner,  "  here  is  Mr.  Atherton  (Miss  De  Groot,  Mr.  Atherton) 
pretends  not  to  know  the  use  of  a  watch-pocket." 

Several  of  the  gentlemen  who  were  talking  to  and  making 
purchases  of  Miss  De  Groot  were  preparing  to  explain  ;  but  that 
young  lady,  who  had  bowed  slightly  to  Alban  as  her  friend  intro- 
duced him,  was  before  them,  and  said,  taking  it  in  her  hand, 
without  looking  at  him — • 

"  It  is  to  hang  your  watch  in  at  night,  sir,  instead  of  putting 
it  under  your  pillow,  which  is  a  very  dangerous  practice.  If  you 
hang  it  against  the  wall,  you  know,  the  ticking  disturbs  you. 
In  this  nicely-wadded  pocket  it  makes  no  noise  though  ever  so 
close  at  hand." 

"  After  so  clear  a  statement  of  its  advantages,  I  must  buy  the 
watch-pocket,"  said  Alban,  laying  down  a  half  eagle. 

"  We  never  give  change,  you  know,  sir,"  said  the  young  lady, 
with  a  quick  glance  at  him  instantly  withdrawn,  and  dropping 
the  gold  into  the  money-drawer,  "  but  you  may  take  any  thing  else 
here  that  you  like  for  it." 

"  The  choice  is  easily  made,"  said  Alban,  trying  to  catch  her 
eye  and  bow. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  replied  Miss  De  Groot,  looking  at  the  myriad 
articles  on  the  table,  but  not  at  Alban. 

"  No  matter,"  quoth  Alban,  biting  his  lips.  "  I  wish  you  much 
success." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  she,  curtseying,  but  never  raising  her 
eyes.  She  took  up  a  purse  to  offer  a  fresh  customer,  and  Alban 
moved  on. 

The  next  stall  was  the  fortune-teller's,  personated  by  a  most 
enchanting  damsel,  full  of  mirth,  and  attired  as  a  gipsy,  and  there 
was  a  crowd  round  it.    Alban  stopped  as  if  he  wanted  to  see,  but 


ALBAN. 


105 


really  to  look  back  stealthily  at  Miss  De  Groot.  Having  heard  that 
she  was  a  belle,  he  was  surprised  at  her  appearance. 

He  had  expected  a  young  lady  of  some  nineteen  or  twenty,  but 
Miss  De  Groot  could  not  be  more  than  sixteen.  She  was  fragile 
and  undeveloped.  Alban  thought  he  could  easily  have  spanned 
her  waist  just  where  the  blue  cincture  confined  her  loose  white 
muslin  dress.  Her  rose-tipped  arms  and  neck  of  lilies  were  bare  and 
shght  in  mould.  It  was  the  face,  then,  which  caused  her  to  be  so 
much  admired,  and  lovely  it  was  beyond  di.spute — fauhless  in 
every  feature,  and  of  a  resplendent  beauty  of  color.  Its  glance 
was  quick  and  shy,  but  the  mouth,  a  trifle  haughty  in  repose  from 
its  exquisite  perfection,  became  sweet  as  an  opening  rose-bud  the 
moment  she  smiled  or  spoke.  Its  charm  was  then  beyond  all 
beauty.  The  eyes,  of  whose  glances  she  was  so  chary,  were  large 
and  dark-gray,  set  beneath  brown-pencilled  eyebrows,  a  shade 
lighter  than  her  beautiful,  abundant,  very  dark  hair,  which  she 
wore  brushed  off'  her  temples  in  a  loose  waving  mass,  half  hiding 
her  ears,  and  twisted  behind  with  a  careless  native  grace. 
George  St.  Clair  came  up  while  Alban  was  gazing  at  her,  and 
laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  saying, 

"  Did  you  ever  see  so  beautiful  a  girl  in  your  life  ?" 

"  I  think  Jane  is  quite  as  beautiful,"  replied  Alban,  with  some 
confusion. 

"  Jane  I"  cried  George.  "  Oh,  no,  you  don't  think  so.  It  is 
impossible.  I  dare  say  Jane  will  turn  out  a  finer  character.  Our 
Babylon  cousins,  Alban,  have  an  infinite  deal  of  dignity  and  purity, 
and  all  that.  Between  ourselves,  Miss  Mary  De  Groot  is  a  bit  of 
a  coquette." 

"  They  all  seem  coquettes  to  me.  I  am  not  at  ease  with 
any  of  them  as  I  used  to  be  with  Jane,"  said  Alban,  with  sim- 
plicity. 

"  Let  me  introduce  you  to  Miss  Ellsworth,"  said  George, 
patronizingly.  "She  will  put  you  at  your  ease  at  once.  I  want 
you  to  get  over  this  confounded  diffidence,  Alban.  In  a  fellow 
with  your  advantages  it  is  too  absurd." 


106 


ALBAN . 


"  Very  well  ;  introduce  me  to  Miss  Ellsworth.  Is  not  her 
name  Mary  also  ?" 

"  Her  name  is  Mary  also,"  said  St.  Clair. 

St.  Clair  led  Alban  through  the  throng  to  the  other  end  of  the 
long  saloon,  where  stood  a  table  of  refreshments.  Miss  Ellsworth 
was  serving  it.  She,  too,  was  young,  but  not  quite  so  youthful 
as  Miss  De  Groot.  Her  form  was  developed,  her  attire  rich 
and  showy.  Low-cut  dresses  were  then  the  fashion,  and  Miss 
Ellsworth's  shoulders  were  so  well  formed,  her  neck  so  full  and 
snowy,  that  she  probably  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  comply 
with  the  mode.  She  seemed  gratified  by  Alban's  being  intro- 
duced to  her,  and  helped  him  immediately  to  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"Do  you  take  cream  and  sugar,  Mr.  Atherton  ?  Please  help 
yourself  A  superb  tea-set  you  think  ?  It  is  mamma's.  She 
lent  it  for  the  fair,  on  condition  that  I  would  preside  at  the  coffee- 
table  and  take  care  of  it.  By  the  by,  mamma  says  that  you  are 
a  relation  of  ours,  Mr.  Atherton.  Grandmamma's  maiden  name 
was  Atherton,  and  mamma  says  that  she  was  first  cousin  to  your 
grandfather.  Yes  ;  that  makes  us  third  cousins.  Not  very  near, 
true  ;  but  blood  is  not  water,  after  all.  The  Ellsworths  are  very 
clannish,  and  so  are  the  Athertons,  I  believe.  The  fair  is  going 
off' capitally,  as  you  say.  I  think  we  shall  make  a  great  deal  of 
money.    You  pay  what  you  please  for  refreshments." 

Alban  had  got  on  so  famously  with  Miss  Ellsworth  that  he 
was  in  a  mood  to  be  generous.  He  took  another  gold  piece  out  of 
his  purse.  It  was  only  a  quarter-eagle,  however  Miss  Ellsworth 
received  it  in  the  palm  of  the  whitest  and  prettiest  hand  imagin- 
able. He  was  about  to  retire  after  that,  but  she  contrived  to 
detain  him.  She  said  that  he  had  overpaid  extravagantly  his 
cup  of  coffee  and  bit  of  sponge  cake  ;  he  must  at  least  eat  an  ice. 
He  preferred  some  more  coffee,  for  Miss  Ellsworth  poured,  sugared, 
and  creamed  it  with  so  much  grace.  With  this  second  cup  our 
hero  gained  additional  confidence.  He  rallied  some  of  his  class- 
mates who  came  up  for  ices  and  lemonade,  in  a  very  sparkling 
manner.     He  positively  jested  with  Miss  Ellsworth,  he  laughed, 


AL  B  AN. 


107 


genuinely  laughed,  at  a  remark  of  hers.  In  fine,  he  staid  at  her 
table  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  went  away  and  came  back  again, 
and  at  length  offered  his  services  to  see  Miss  Ellsworth  home, 
which  she  accepted  on  the  score  of  their  relationship.  So  when  the 
sale  was  closed,  that  is  to  say,  punctually  at  eleven  o'clock,  p.  m., 
Alban  helped  Miss  Ellsworth  get  her  things  in  the  ladies'  cloak- 
room ;  she  took  liis  arm  in  a  very  confiding  manner,  and  joining 
themselves  to  a  party  composed  of  similar  pairs,  they  took  their 
way  to  her  father's  house.  It  had  been  snowing  at  last,  and  the 
path  was  covered  to  the  depth  of  two  or  three  inches.  So  the  girls 
went  along  laughing,  and  talking,  and  holding  up  their  dresses. 
Miss  De  Groot  and  a  cavalier  were  just  in  advance  of  Miss  Ells- 
worth and  Alban,  but  the  former  young  lady  refused  to  take  her 
beau's  arm  on  the  plea  that  she  must  hold  up  her  dress.  She  did 
it  very  decidedly,  and  made  a  rather  singular  figure,  for  she  had  a 
white  opera-mantle  (a  capuchin)  thrown  over  her  head  and 
shoulders,  a  thing  seldom  seen  in  those  days,  and  below  it  were 
visible  only  a  white  dimity  petticoat,  somewhat  short  and  scant, 
and  the  extremities  of  her  muslin  pantalets.  But  Alban  thought 
that  Miss  De  Groot  stepped  very  gracefully  through  the  light  snow, 
and  when  they  arrived  at  Miss  Ellsworth's  gate,  she  turned  and 
said  "  Good  night,  Maiy,"  in  a  frank,  innocent  voice  that  won  his 
sympathy. 

Our  hero  accompanied  Miss  Ellsworth  through  the  shrubberied 
court-yard  to  the  very  door.  It  was  a  large  house,  the  white  front 
enriched  with  a  good  deal  of  old-fashioned  carving  about  the  win- 
dows and  pediment,  as  you  could  see  by  the  setting  half-moon  and 
the  reflection  of  the  snow.  Miss  Ellsworth  herself  threw  open  the 
door,  which  was  neither  bolted  nor  locked. 

"  Won't  you  walk  in,  Mr.  Atherton  ?" 

"  Not  to-night,  I  thank  you,  Miss  Ellsworth.  But  I  shall  soon 
give  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling." 

"  We  shall  be  very  happy  to  see  you,  Mr.  Atherton.  Good 
night,  since  you  won't  come  in." 

The  young  lady  enters  a  quiet  house,  for  the  servants  are  gone 


108 


ALBAN. 


to  "bed.  She  locks  and  bolts  the  door  after  her.  The  hall  stove 
diffuses  a  genial  warmth,  but  she  stamps  her  snowy  feet  on  the 
mat,  opens  a  door,  and  enters  a  sitting-room  where  a  wood  fire  is 
blazing  on  the  iron  hearth  of  a  Franklin.  The  apartment  has  no 
other  light,  but  rays  issue  from  an  inner  door  that  stands  ajar. 

*'  Mary,"  cries  a  voice,  "  is  that  you  ?" 

*'  Yes,  mother." 

*'  Have  you  locked  the  front-door  ?" 
"  I  have,  mother." 

"  Oh,  very  well !  Who  came  home  with  you  ?"  in  a  lower  tone. 
*'  Mr.  Atherton,  mamma." 

"  Oh,  very  well !  Now  do  go  to  bed  immediately,  for  it  is  al- 
most midnight."    And  the  bedroom  door  was  shut. 

Miss  Ellsworth  took  off' her  "  things,"  i.  e.,  a  large  cloak,  thick 
hood,  and  moccasins.  Then  standing  in  the  firelight  she  looked 
at  herself  in  the  mantel  glass.  It  was  a  serious  inspection  ;  she 
twirled  her  brown  ringlets  over  her  fingers,  and  then  let  them  fall 
upon  the  shoulders  that  beamed  so  clear  and  well  defined  in  the 
dark  mirror.  She  was  satisfied  that  so  far  as  that  fair,  well-formed 
bust  was  concerned,  her  young  rival  could  not  vie  with  her.  But 
what  of  the  face  ?  That  light  coming  from  below  was  so  trying  ! 
Still  it  could  not  spoil  her  regular  mouth,  fluted  nostril,  and  black, 
sibylline  eye.  Young  Mr.  Alban  Atherton  had  certainly  been  very 
much  pleased  with  her,  yet  she  remembered  that  his  admiring  and 
somewhat  untutored  glance  had  fallen  oftener  on  her  shoulders 
than  her  face.  She  would  like  to  form  his  taste  and  manners. 
The  last  were  good  essentially,  save  a  college  gaucherie,  arising 
from  his  having  kept  away  from  ladies'  society  since  he  had  been 
at  New  Haven.  He  was  worth  forming,  for  all  agreed  that  he 
was  the  most  "  talented"  man  in  his  class.  He  was  very  young 
to  be  sure — not  more  than  twenty.  Miss  Ellsworth  guessed — but 
then  to  an  experienced  young  lady  of  twenty-one  he  was  all  the 
safer  for  that. 

An  old  clock  in  a  corner  struck  twelve,  and  Miss  Ellsworth, 
roused  from  her  revery,  considered  that  she  had  better  retire.  But 


ALBAN . 


109 


as  there  was  no  fire  in  her  bedroom  she  deemed  it  prudent  to  say 
her  prayers  in  the  parlor.  So  she  knelt  down  speedily  at  a  large 
rocking--chair,  in  one  corner  of  which  she  buried  her  ringleted  face 
for  some  fifteen  minutes,  during  which  period  she  once  fell  asleep, 
then  sprang  up  again,  unfastened  her  dress,  put  her  hair  in 
papers  with  drowsy  rapidity,  lit  a  candle,  and,  gathering  up  her 
things,  stole  up  stairs,  where  she  was  soon,  we  presume,  dreaming 
of  handsome,  intellectual,  shy  students,  and  of  dreadful  rivals  in 
white  capuchins,  short  skirts,  and  pretty  muslin  trowsers. 

10 


110 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  snow  on  the  night  of  the  fair  proved  the  first  of  a  storm, 
which,  in  a  few  days,  cleared  up  cold,  with  splendid  sleighing. 
Fortunately,  too,  it  had  come  with  the  moon.  No  foreigner  can 
imagine  the  brilliancy  of  an  American  winter- night  with  a  round 
moon  riding  in  the  zenith,  and  a  surface  of  crusty  snow,  two  feet 
deep,  spreading  all  round  to  the  horizon. 

St.  Clair,  Winthrop,  Hayne,  and  Alban.  Atherton  had  invited 
Miss  Ellsworth,  Miss  De  Groot,  and  two  other  young  ladies,  to  take 
a  sleigh-ride.  The  last  young  lady  called  for  was  Miss  De  Groot, 
and  it  was  about  half-past  seven  when  they  dashed  away  from 
the  door  of  the  mansion  where  she  was  a  guest.  Three  ladies 
sat  on  the  back  seat,  three  gentlemen  on  the  front ;  a  gentleman 
and  lady,  who  were  Hayne  and  a  sister  of  Winthrop's,  occupied 
the  driver's  seat,  and  the  driver  was  on  his  legs.  There  was  a 
driver — for  it  is  infinitely  too  cold  an  amusement  to  drive  one's 
self  with  the  thermometer  nearly  at  zero.  The  ladies  were  en- 
veloped in  furs  and  covered  with  buffalo  robes,  and  the  whole 
bottom  of  the  sleigh,  by  St.  Clair's  care,  had  been  laid  with  hot 
bricks  wrapped  in  flannel.  There  never  was  so  comfortable  a 
party,  all  agreed.  The  countless  bells  on  the  collars  and  girths 
jingled  merrily  ;  the  horses  dashed  forward  in  excitement,  and 
were  scarcely  to  be  restrained  from  a  gallop  ;  the  houses  flew  by  ; 
in  an  instant  they  were  out  in  the  open  country,  and  soon  flying 
along  the  base  of  East  Rock,  the  clifls  and  woods  of  which  loomed 
up  grandly  in  the  effulgent  night. 

Very  sweetly  the  three  fair  faces  on  the  back  seat  peeped  out 
of  their  close  winter  bonnets.  Miss  De  Groot,  as  the  youngest  and 
slenderest,  was  in  the  middle.  She  seemed  to  enter  into  the  ex- 
citement of  sleighing  more  than  any  one  She  exclaimed  with 
astonishment  at  the  wonderful  brightness  of  the  moon,  counted 


ALB AN. 


Ill 


the  few  visible  stars  with  the  most  eager  interest,  never  failed  to 
express  a  new  delight  whenever  they  passed  a  fine  hemlock  or 
spreading  pine,  with  its  evergreen  boughs  laden  with  glittering 
snow.  Alban's  notion  was  that  this  girlish  pleasure  was  affected, 
as  a  means  of  fascination.  At  all  events  it  was  wonderfully  suc- 
cessful in  attaining  that  end.  St.  Clair»  full  of  courtesy  to  his 
vis  d-vis,  Miss  Ellsworth,  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  wandering 
to  her  youthful  neighbor,  with  the  air  of  one  perfectly  enamored  ; 
and  Winthrop,  whose  style  was  more  off-hand  seemingly,  but 
really  more  guarded,  while  he  cultivated  most  assiduously  the 
good  graces  of  his  opposite  neighbor — a  very  handsome  girl,  whose 
surname  was  Tracy — gave  from  time  to  time  a  glance  at  Miss  De 
Groot,  which  Alban  wondered  how  the  latter  could  bear.  Our 
hero  M'as  so  new  that  things  struck  him  crudely  which  people 
used  to  society  hardly  notice.  It  was  difficult,  though,  for  either 
of  Miss  De  G-root's  admirers  to  catch  her  eye  ;  and  her  raptures 
about  the  moonlight  she  addressed  chiefly  to  her  newest  acquaint- 
ance, which  was  Alban  himself 

"  See,  Mr.  Alban," — so  she  called  him  all  the  evening — 
"another  great  snow-tree  is  coming;" — or  at  a  glimpse  of  the 
far-off  Sound,  with  moon-tipped  waves  flashing  against  a 
white,  ice-bound  coast, — "  Is  not  that  very,  very  beautiful,  Mr. 
Alban  ?" 

Miss  Ellsworth  also  took  every  opportunity  of  addressing  our 
hero,  not  in  her  friend's  open,  undisguised  way,  but  in  a  tone  of 
confidential  intelligence  that  won  Alban  more. 

"  We  count  on  you,  Mr.  Atherton,  to  help  us  dress  our  church." 
— They  were  talking  of  the  variety  of  evergreens  with  which  East 
and  West  Hock  abounded. 

"  On  what  day  of  the  month  does  Christmas  fall  this  year  ?" 
asked  Winthrop,  who  was  a  pure  Congregationalist. 

*'  On  the  twenty-fifth  of  December,  I  believe,"  replied  Miss 
Ellsworth,  looking  at  Alban. 

"  What  an  ignoramus  you  are,  Winthrop  I"  cried  St.  Clair. 
"  Do  you  imagine  that  Christmas  is  a  movable  feast  ?" 


112 


ALBAN. 


"Mr.  St.  Clair  is  better  instructed,"  said  Miss  Ellsworth. 
"  He  has  been  studying  the  Prayer-book  so  diligently  of  late." 

"  I  admire  the  Episcopal  Liturgy,"  said  Miss  Tracy.  "  Don't 
you,  Mr.  Winthrop  ?" 

"  If  there  was  nothing  but  the  Liturgy,"  responded  Winthrop  ; 
**  but  the  other  parts  make  the  service  too  long,  in  my  opinion." 

*'  Winthrop  means  the  Litany,"  again  interposed  the  accurate 
St.  Clair,    "  The  whole  service  is  the  Liturgy,  my  dear  fellow." 

Miss  De  Groot,  who  was  hstening  for  the  first  time  to  the 
conversation  of  the  rest,  smiled,  Alban  thought  contemptuously. 

"  Miss  De  Groot  does  not  agree  with  you  there,  George,"  he 
observed,  with  more  than  usual  promptitude.  "  I  suspect  that  she 
and  Miss  Ellsworth  think  you  as  ignorant  as  Winthrop." 

"  Oh,  /  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Miss  De  Groot,  hastily. 
"I  am  not  an  Episcopalian." 

"  Mary  is  hardly  a  Christian,"  remarked  Miss  Ellsworth,  with 
a  smile  and  sad  shake  of  the  head. 

Miss  De  Groot's  dark  eye  flashed  angrily,  and  she  turned  her 
beautiful  face  to  her  neighbor's  with  warm  indignation. 

"  I  believe  in  Christ  as  truly  as  yourself,  I  suppose,  if  that  is 
being  a  Christian,  although  I  cannot  believe  contradictions  about 
Him,  and  don't  believe  that  mere  outward  forms  are  necessary  to 
salvation." 

"  Some  outward  forms  are  commanded  by  Christ  Himself,  you 
know,  Mary,"  replied  Miss  Ellsworth,  with  an  irritating  calm- 
ness, "  and  you  must  beheve  what  seems  a  contradiction  to  your 
short-sighted  reason,  if  it  is  revealed  in  God's  word." 

"  Then  why  do  not  you  believe  in  Tran substantiation  ?"  re- 
torted Miss  De  Groot,  hardly  suffering  Miss  Ellsworth  to  finish. 
Some  quicker  blood  than  Saxon  evidently  stirred  in  her  veins. 

"  Because  it  is  not  taught  in  the  Bible,  Mary." 

"  Just  as  much  taught  in  the  Bible  as  the  divinity  of  Christ," 
rejoined  Miss  De  Groot.    "  I  appeal  to  Mr.  Alban,  if  it  is  not." 

"  If  you  take  the  Bible  literally.  Miss  Mary,  you  may  certainly 
say  so." 


ALBAN. 


113 


"  And  if  you  don't  take  it  literally,  Mr.  Alban,  you  may  as 
well  explain  away  one  passage  as  another." 

For  the  first  time  she  looked  him  in  the  face  steadily  and 
brightly.  Her  irritation  was  gone,  and  she  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten it.    She  repeated  her  words  earnestly. 

"  We  must  explain  one  passage  by  another,  and  by  the  gen- 
eral tenor  of  the  Bible,  Mr.  Alban, — must  not  we  ?  The  Apostles 
never  speak  of  worshipping  Christ ;  never  pray  to  Him  after  His 
ascension,  but  only  to  God.  He  Himself  says,  '  My  Father  is 
greater  than  I.'  *  I  go  to  my  God  and  yours.'  What  can  be 
plainer  than  that?" 

"  Extremely  well  put,"  said  Winthrop,  who  had  not  a  spark 
of  religion,  and  liked  any  thing  that  hit  hard  at  orthodoxy.  St. 
Clair  looked  horrified  at  Miss  De  Groot's  talking  Unitarianism. 
Alban  alone,  who  had  been  in  the  background  all  the  evening  as 
respected  vivacity  and  small  talk,  answered  in  a  gentle  but 
slightly  patronizing  manner, 

"  If  the  Bible  be  an  inspired  book.  Miss  Mary,  we  must  not 
treat  it  in  that  way." 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  doubted  its  inspiration,  Mr.  Alban." 

*'  No,  that  is  not  what  Mr.  Atherton  means,  Mary." 

"  Every  sect  understands  the  Bible  in  its  own  way,  and  you 
never  can  make  them  all  understand  it  alike,"  said  Winthrop. 

After  this  theological  burst,  the  party  were  whirled  on  in  com- 
parative silence  ;  but  Hayne  and  Miss  Winthrop,  on  the  driver's 
seat,  inattentive  to  what  was  going  on  inside,  conversed  inex- 
haustibly, and  with  so  marvellously  slender  a  store  of  topics,  that 
Alban  could  never  admire  their  facility  enough.  At  last  the 
horses  drew  up  in  great  style  under  the  piazza  of  a  country  tavern. 
All  got  out,  and  the  mulled  wine  was  ordered.  St.  Clair  made 
the  inn  people  take  out  all  the  bricks  to  heat  over,  whereat  they 
grumbled.  The  ladies  threw  off  their  hoods  and  outside  wrap- 
pings, and  appeared  in  becoming  demi-toilettes  ;  such  pretty 
worked  collars  on  their  necks  I  such  tasteful  kerchiefs  round  their 
throats  I  such  well-chosen  silk  and  chalHs  dresses  !    Let  Yankee 

10* 


114 


AL  B AN . 


girls  alone  for  not  missing  their  points  on  such  occasions.  Only 
the  young:  New  York  beauty  with  the  old  Dutch  name,  was  some- 
what plain  in  her  garb.  When  Miss  De  Groot  had  removed  her 
furs,  (the  envy  of  her  companions — she  said  her  papa  brought 
them  home  from  Russia,)  and  the  pelisse  M^hich  she  wore  mider 
them,  nothing  had  she  to  show  but  a  little  black  silk  frock  (with 
a  touch  of  the  pantalets)  and  her  own  graceful  shoulders,  which 
gleamed  as  if  they  had  been  carved  out  of  elephant's  tooth  and 
gold,  in  contrast  with  that  dark,  scant  vesture.  So  they  all  sat 
round  the  blazing  Frankhn,  with  their  tumblers  of  mulled  wine, 
quizzing  the  rosy  maiden  who  served  it,  and  laughing  at  every 
thing  "  countrified"  which  their  sharp  eyes  detected  in  the  appur- 
tenances of  the  inn,  or  the  manners  of  its  inmates.  There  is 
probably  not  another  country  in  the  world  where  four  young  la- 
dies of  the  same  social  rank  would  be  intrusted  thus  to  the  pro- 
tection of  as  many  young  gentlemen.  The  only  pledge  given  to 
propriety  was,  that  two  of  the  party  were  brother  and  sister  ;  for 
these  were  not  "  any  sort"  of  girls,  but  belonged  (always  excepting 
the  young  New  Yorker)  to  distinguished  branches  of  the  gentes 
majores  of  Connecticut. 

Winthrop  was  the  first  to  observe  that  Miss  De  Groot  was  not 
so  taken  up  with  the  flowing  cheer  and  mirth  within,  but  that 
she  had  a  longing  eye  for  the  freezing  splendors  without.  The 
inn-parlor  looked  out  upon  a  small,  half-frozen  lake,  with  woody 
shores  rising  into  snowy  hills.  Miss  De  Groot  went  to  the  win- 
dow with  her  foamy  tumbler,  and  Mr.  Winthrop  followed  her. 
Miss  Tracy,  who  was  a  funny  girl,  began  to  tell  a  story,  (she 
was  famous  for  that,)  and  all  eyes  and  ears  were  soon  given 
to  her. 

Of  a  sudden  there  was  the  sound  of  a  smart  blow — it  could 
be  nothing  else  ;  Miss  Tracy  stopped  with  a  httle  shriek,  and 
every  body  turned  round  with  a  start.  Miss  De  Groot  was  coming 
hastily  back  to  the  fire,  spilling  her  mulled  wine  on  the  carpet  ; 
the  fire  was  not  half  so  red  as  she.  Winthrop  followed  her  with 
one  hand  laid  to  his  cheek. 


AL  B AN . 


115 


"  Upon  my  word,  Miss  De  Groot,"  he  said,  amid  the  exclama- 
tions of  the  rest,  "  you  understand  the  use  of  your  hands." 

The  young  lady  made  no  reply  to  him,  but  looking  excessively 
angry,  said  in  an  audible  whisper,  as  she  seated  herself  between 
Miss  Ellsworth  and  Alban,  "  I  hope  it  will  teach  him  the  use  of 
his." 

"  Why,  what  have  you  done  to  Miss  De  Groot,  Winthrop  ?" 
cried  the  gentlemen,  St.  Clair  turning  white  and  red. 

"Nothing,  on  my  honor,"  said  Winthrop,  afiecting  to  laugh, 
"  but  what  1  have  done  fifty  times  before  to  other  young  ladies, 
without  incurring  a  similar  punishment." 

"  Why,  what  did  he  do  ?"  inquired  the  ladies  in  whispers,  of 
the  offended  fair. 

"  He  put  his  arm  round  my  waist,"  replied  the  latter,  very 
straiglitforwardly,  but  with  a  suppressed  sob.  "  I  asked  him  once 
to  remove  it ;"  with  a  little  resentful  shake  of  the  head,  pecuHar 
to  young  girls, — "  I  did  not  ask  twice." 

*' Wiiichrop,"  said  Alban,  "you  must  beg  Miss  De  Groot's 
pardon  on  your  knees." 

"  I  declare  I  am  very  willing,"  cried  AYinthrop. 

The  other  ladies  expressed  much  indignation  at  him,  particu- 
larly at  his  saying  that  he  had  done  the  same  thing  before,  fifty 
times,  without  its  being  resented.  "  Never  to  me,"  said  Miss  Ells- 
worth, scornfully.  "  Nor  to  me,"  said  Miss  Tracy,  coloring.  "  I 
presume  you  mean  to  me.  Bob,"  said  his  sister,  with  a  half  laugh. 

Winthrop  went  down  on  his  knees  to  Miss  De  Groot  with  a 
very  good  grace,  and  Hayne,  a  gigantic  Southron,  interceded  for  his 
friend  in  the  most  polished  tone  of  chivalric  deference.  St.  Clair, 
an  uncut  diamond,  half  waggishly  and  half  sincerely  observed  that 
for  his  part,  if  he  had  been  guilty  of  the  ofl^ence,  which  Heaven  for- 
bid, he  should  have  considered  the  punishment  a  reward.  He 
never  before  knew  the  case  in  which  he  should  have  been  dis- 
posed literally  to  obey  the  precept,  Avhen  one  cheek  was  smitten  to 
turn  the  other  also.  He  quite  envied  W  inthrop  the  honor  of  having 
his  ears  boxed  by  Miss  De  Groot. 


116 


ALBAN. 


*'  I  view  it  quite  in  that  light,"  said  Winthrop,  "  though  I  can 
assure  any  one  who  hkes  to  try,  that  Miss  De  Groot  hits  hard." 

Miss  De  Groot  did  not  show  herself  implacable,  but  she  kept 
close  to  Miss  Ellsworth's  side  the  rest  of  the  time  that  they  staid 
at  the  inn.  It  had  been  proposed  to  sit  differently  in  returning. 
Hayne  would  not  come  inside,  bat  Miss  Ellsworth  and  Miss 
Winthrop  changed  places,  and  Winthrop  himself  wished  to  ex- 
change with  one  of  the  ladies  ;  whereupon  Miss  De  Groot  insisted 
that  it  should  be  with  herself,  of  course  that  she  might  not  be 
obliged  to  sit  next  him  ;  and  because  she  would  not  be  opposite  to 
him  either,  she  quietly  took  the  outside  place,  to  the  disappointment 
of  St.  Clair,  who  found  his  cousin  Alban  between  him  and  the  ob- 
ject of  his  adoration.  Miss  De  Groot  seemed  to  have  lost  all  enjoy- 
ment of  the  beautiful  night ;  Miss  Tracy  and  Miss  Winthrop  rallied 
her  on  continuing  to  be  so  disconcerted  by  a  trifle,  and  Alban 
caught  sight  of  a  tear  on  her  averted  face.  He  desired  to  soothe 
her,  and  (his  skepticism  did  not  alter  what  had  become  a  moral 
habit  with  him)  to  do  her  good. 

"  Did  I  understand  you.  Miss  Mary,"  trying  to  divert  her  atten- 
tion and  confer  a  benefit  at  the  same  time,  "  to  avow  yourself  that 
very  unpopular  character  here — a  Unitarian  ?" 

"  My  father  is  a  Unitarian,  sir,  and  I  have  been  brought  up  to 
think  as  he  does." 

"  We  all  believe  at  first  as  our  parents  believe,"  said  Alban. 

"  In  Boston  the  first  families  and  the  most  cultivated  people  are 
Unitarians,"  said  Miss  De  Groot. 

"  But  you,  by  your  name,  are  pure  New  York." 

"  Papa  was  educated  at  Harvard." 

"  Ah,  one  naturally  takes  up  the  system  that  prevails  in  one's 
university,"  said  Alban.  "  Is  your  mother  not  living,  may  I  ven- 
ture to  ask  ?" 

"  Mamma  died  when  I  was  little  more  than  two  years  old," 
turning  a  little  towards  him  and  looking  him  in  the  face  less  shyly 
than  usual.  "  I  remember  her  though  perfectly,  1  wear  her  hair 
and  miniature  together  in  a  locket." 


ALBAN, 


117 


"  Do  you  I"  said  Alban.     "  Have  you  no  brothers  or  sisters  ?'* 
"  I  had  a  little  brother  who  died  just  before  mamma.    He  was 
only  a  few  days  old,  you  know,  Mr.  Alban.    I  have  his  hair  too, 
in  the  same  locket  with  mamma's,  and  it  is  as  dark  almost  as 
mine." 

"  And  was  your  mother  a  Unitarian  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Miss  De  Groot,  "  she  was  a  Roman  Catholic  ;  and 
that  is  what  I  will  be  if  ever  I  change  my  religion,  which  I  don't 
think  I  ever  shall,  Mr.  Alban." 

"  Oh,  really  I"  said  Alban,  rather  shocked,  for  it  was  hard  to 
tell  which  faith  he  regarded  with  the  greater  horror.  A  Papist 
was  a  more  unpopular  character  than  a  Socinian,  and  here  was 
this  young  Miss  De  Groot  avowing  that  she  was  resolved  always 
to  be  either  one  or  the  other.  Alban  began  to  consider  to  what 
sect,  for  her  own  sake  (for  his  feeling  was  purely  disinterested)  he 
would  like  to  convert  her.  He  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
exactly,  though  he  thought  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  and  he 
pursued,  "  You  will  think  me  a  true  Yankee,  but  I  must  really  ask 
you  one  more  question.  Was  your  mother  a  native  American,  Miss 
De  Groot  ?" 

"  Oh,  ask  as  many  questions  as  ^qw  please.  There  is  no  im- 
pertinence in  your  curiosity,  Mr.  Alban,  No,  my  mother  was 
Irish.  I  am  very  proud  of  my  Irish  blood.  You  have  seen  that  I 
have  something  of  its  quickness." 

"  After  all,"  thought  Alban,  "  there  is  a  good  deal  in  you,  and 
I  don't  believe  that  you  are  such  a  coquette  as  they  would  make 
out." 

But  Miss  Tracy  said,  laughing,  "  What  a  decided  flirtation  be- 
tween Mr.  Atherton  and  Maiy  De  Groot  !  Mr.  Atherton  did  not 
give  into  it  at  first,  but  '  beauty  in  distress'  has  proved  too  strong 
for  him." 

For  some  reason  or  other  the  young  lady's  native  temper  did 
not  rise  at  this  imputation.  She  only  replied,  so  mildly  that  Alban 
wondered  at  her  again, 

"  Since  you  all  say  that  I  am  a  flirt,  there  must  be  some  foun- 


118 


ALBAN. 


dation  for  the  charge,  but  I  hope  that  Mr,  Atherton  will  not  believe 
it  merely  on  your  authority." 

"  Oh,  he  has  better  evidence,  I  think,  Mary,"  said  Miss  Ells- 
worth, turning  round  from  the  driver's  seat  ;  for  she  was  so  near 
her  friend  that  their  backs  almost  touched. 

*'  You,  too,  Mary  Ellsworth  I  Now  that  is  really  unkind  I" 
said  Miss  De  Groot,  smiling  in  the  moonlight,  but  speaking  with  a 
tremulous  voice,  as  if  she  were  hurt.  "  I  must  not  ask  you,  Mr. 
Alban,  if  you  think  I  have  flirted  with  you  this  evening,  but  I  do 
assure  you  that  nothing  was  further  from  my  thoughts.  1  have 
spoken  to  you  more  than  to  the  other  gentlemen,  because  I  have 
an  aversion  to  Mr.  Winthrop,"  (that  gentleman  bowed,)  "and 
Mr.  St.  Clair,  I  am  afraid, — has  an  aversion  to  me,"  she  added, 
laughing.    "Haven't  you,  Mr.  St.  Clair?" 

"  The  greatest  I"  said  St.  Clair,  with  a  comic  contortion. 

"  And  Mr.  Hayne  is  outside,"  continued  Miss  De  Groot. 

"  I  was  your  only  resource,"  said  Alban.  "  It  is  quite  clear. 
I  feel  extremely  flattered." 

"  So  do  all  the  gentlemen,  no  doubt,"  observed  Miss  Tracy. 

"  Myself  especially,"  said  Winthrop.  "  For  next  to  a  lady's 
preference,  give  me  her  aversion." 

"Let  us  part  friends,"  exclaimed  St.  Clair,  in  a  mock  heroic 
tone,  "for  we  are  approaching  rapidly  to  the  end  of  our  journey. 
For  my  part,  I  forgive  all  the  injuries  I  have  received." 

"  I  bear  no  malice,"  said  Winthrop. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Miss  De  Groot,  with  a  smile  of  fascination, 
principally  bestowed,  however,  on  St.  Clair  and  Alban. 

The  sentiment  of  a  vanishing  pleasure  subdued  our  party  to 
silence  as  the  horses  renewing  their  homeward  pace,  approached 
New  Haven.  As  Miss  De  Groot  had  been  called  for  last,  .so  she 
was  set  down  first,  the  mansion  where  she  was  a  guest  being  out 
of  the  town.  They  had  to  drive  in  at  a  gate  and  ascend  a  gradual 
carriage  sweep  to  get  to  it.  Her  friends  discussed  her  character 
when  they  had  lost  her  presence.  Miss  Winthrop  and  Miss  Tracy 
were  pretty  severe.    "  Bob  was  saucy,"  said  his  sister,  "  but  it 


AL  B  AN. 


119 


was  a  very  unlady-like  thing  for  her  to  slap  him,  in  my  opinion." 
"  My  belief  is  that  it  was  all  done  for  effect,"  said  Miss  Tracy. 
"  Just  to  seem  extremely  dainty." — "  How  hard  they  are  on  their 
own  sex  !"  said  St.  Clair.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  nature  gave  you 
your  hands,  ladies,  as  well  as  your  nails  and  teeth,  to  defend  your- 
selves from  impertinence,  if  the  occasion  require,  as  well  as  for 
other  purposes." — "  The  occasion  did  not  require  such  a  use  of  her 
hands  on  the  part  of  Miss  De  Groot,"  rejoined  jSIiss  Tracy.  St. 
Clair  and  Hayne  maintained  the  contrary,  although  Mith  many 
expressions  of  deference  for  the  sentiment  of  the  ladies. — "  How 
you  all  talk  !"  said  Miss  Ellsworth.  "  Mary  De  Groot  used  her 
hand  to  punish  Mr.  Winthrop's  rudeness  just  from  instinct,  with- 
out stopping  to  think  about  the  pros  and  cons." — "  Exactly,"  cried 
St.  Clair;  "it  is  just  as  a  cat  scratches,  or  a  cow  hooks  at  you 
with  her  horns.  I  told  you  so." — "  I  think  that  Miss  De  Groot 
afterwards  regretted  having  boxed  Winthrop's  ears,"  observed 
Alban. — "  It  was  only  one  ear  that  she  boxed,"  said  Winthrop, 
"  and  quite  enough,  I  assure  you.  I  was  bending  down  to  whisper 
a  compliment,  you  know,  about  her  eyes  being  brighter  than  the 
moon,  or  some  such  nonsense  ;  and  I  did'nt  put  my  arm  round  her 
waist,  as  she  said  I  did,  but  just  touched  her  with  my  open  hand, 
as  one  does  in  taking  out  a  lady  to  waltz,  or  in  passing  her  into  a 
carriage, — nothing  more,  on  my  honor, — and  she  said  as  quick  as 
a  flash,  '  Please  take  your  hand  off'  my  waist,  sir,'  with  so  much 
haughtiness  that,  by  George,  I  wouldn't  at  first,  and  then  she 
drew  back  and  struck  me  as  if  she  would  have  knocked  me  down. 
I  declare  I  had  no  idea  that  a  girl  of  her  slender  build  could  strilve 
so  hard." 

AYinthrop  had  evidently  received  a  deep  impression.  The  rest 
of  the  party  laughed  at  his  story,  in  various  tones,  while  the  sleigh 
cut  along  an  arcade  of  leafless  elms.  One  by  one  the  other  ladies 
were  deposited  at  their  homes,  and  in  a  trice  after  that,  the  young 
men  got  out  together  at  North  College  gate.  It  was  a  reasonable 
hour  ; — not  quite  midnight. 


120 


ALBAN . 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  approach  of  Christmas  excited  far  less  interest  in  New 
Haven  than  that  of  the  Brothers'  Society  exhibition  which  was  to 
take  place  soon  after  the  festival.  The  work  of  rehearsals  was 
going  on  secretly  but  zealously  at  the  Society's  room,  and  many 
were  the  rumors  afloat  respecting  the  interest  of  the  new  tragedy 

by  ,  (the  name  could  not  transpire,)  the  murderous  fun  of  the 

farce  by  ,  and  the  splendid  additions  which  the  committee  on 

the  exhibition  had  made  to  the  Society's  theatrical  wardrobe. 
The  members  of  the  other  societies  were  intriguing  furiously  for 
tickets,  and  all  the  young  ladies  who  had  not  yet  been  privately 
invited,  were  in  a  fever  of  nervous  excitement  lest  they  should  be 
left  out. 

Whether  Alban  had  worked  so  hard  at  his  tragedy,  (for  ive 
are  not  bound  to  keep  the  secret  of  the  Brothers'  Society,)  or  at 
the  Evidences,  for  he  confounded  the  Divinity  Professor  by  bring- 
ing every  day  some  fresh  and  subtle  objection  to  be  solved,  or 
whether  the  image  of  Mary  Ellsworth,  or  that  of  Mary  De  Groot, 
(since  the  sleigh-ride,)  visited  him  in  dreams  and  rendered  his 
sleep  less  refreshing  to  his  body  than  agreeable  to  his  imagination, 
or  whether  the  fare  in  Commons,  as  he  averred,  was  really  exe- 
crable that  term,  it  is  certain  that  about  the  first  of  December  he 
had  suddenly  become  aware  of  having  lost  his  appetite,  digestion, 
color,  and  elasticity.  He  called  on  his  physician,  wisely  thinking 
that  it  was  the  business  of  a  professor  of  the  healing  art  to  save 
him  from  all  care  concerning  his  clay  tenement  when  it  got  out 
of  order.  To  employ  another's  ministry  in  our  ailments,  whether 
of  body  or  soul,  enables  us  to  avoid  dwelling  unhealthily  upon 
them  ourselves. 

The  doctor  felt  the  pulse,  looked  at  the  tongue,  thumped  the 
chest,  peered  into  the  eyes,  inquired  into  the  functions. 


ALB AN . 


121 


Circulation  irregular — mucous  membrane  slightly  disordered. 
You  have  not  been  dissipating  in  any  way  ?  You  smile.  Well,  I 
think  not,  wdth  that  clear,  bluish-white  conjunctiva  and  girlish 
blush.  Then  you  have  been  working  that  fine  brain  of  yours  too 
hard.  What  have  you  been  doing  ?" 
"  Writing  a  tragedy,  doctor." 

"  Enough.  All  accounted  for — the  pain  in  side  included. 
Excites  the  passions  as  much  as  dissipation,  and  draws  more 
fearfully  on  the  nervous  energies.    You  must  give  it  up." 

"  I  have  got  through  my  work  now,  doctor,  and  am  really  re- 
cruiting ;  I  make  a  call  in  town  every  morning." 
That's  well." 

"  The  main  difficulty,  sir,  is  the  stomach  or  the  liver.  I  have 
an  idea  that  I  need  some  blue  pill." 

"  Blue  nonsense  I  You  want  some  old  sherry,  a  change  of  oc- 
cupation and  a  change  of  diet.  Go  board  at  Mrs.  Hart's.  I  will 
write  you  a  certificate  this  minute." 

Alban  lost  no  time  in  availing  himself  of  the  doctor's  certifi- 
cate. The  President,  on  its  being  presented,  gave  him  leave  at 
once  to  board  in  town  ;  he  gave  notice  to  the  Steward  that  very 
morning,  and  at  one  o'clock  punctually  he  was  entering  Mrs. 
Hart's  dining-room. 

The  single  large  table  neatly  spread  with  linen  damask,  was 
as  wonderful  to  him  as  if  he  had  never  seen  the  like  in  his  life. 
The  mere  glow  of  the  decanters  warmed  his  stomach.  The  very 
location  of  the  salt-cellars  between  crossed  silver  spoons  was  appe- 
tizing. The  knives  and  forks  regularly  laid,  the  tumblers  and 
wine-glasses,  the  bright  plated  castors,  the  napkins  in  rings  of 
silver  or  ivory,  refreshed  his  vision,  accustomed  to  the  nakedness 
and  disorder  of  the  Commons'  tables.  How  cosy,  too,  appeared  the 
old-fashioned  japanned  plate- warmer  by  the  fire  I  What  a  savory 
odor  from  the  not  distant  kitchen  saluted  his  olfactories  I 

"  1  declare,"  thought  he,  "  I  did  not  realize  in  what  a  piggish 
way  we  live  in  Commons." 

For  three  years,  saving  the  vacations,  our  hero  had  lived  in 

11 


122 


ALBAN. 


such  a  piggish  way,  a  good  deal  distressed  by  it  in  his  early  days 
of  Freshman  simplicity,  but  accustoming  himself  to  it  by  degrees, 
till  he  was  himself  grown  considerably  careless,  a  fact  which  his 
dear  "  particular"  mother  puzzled  him  by  lamenting.  The  manners 
as  well  as  the  arrangements  of  Commons  were  very  unrefined  in 
those  days  ;  the  rude  haste,  the  unseemly  neglect  of  forms,  made 
the  tables  even  of  the  higher  college  classes  most  unlike  the  old 
Catholic  refectories,  which,  plain  as  they  were,  were  schools  of  de- 
corum as  well  as  of  simplicity.  Still,  it  had  been  better  for  Alban 
than  luxury,  or  the  fastidious  ostentation  of  the  moderns. 

Presently  came  in  Mrs.  Hart — 3.  tidy  dame  of  forty — whose 
looks  commended  her  own  cheer.  The  boarders  dropped  in  quietly, 
and  Mrs.  Hart  introduced  Alban  to  some  of  them.  The  first  of 
these  was  a  fresh-looking,  well-conditioned,  closely  shaven  young 
man  of  some  six  or  seven  and  tw^enty,  carefully  dressed  in  a 
black  suit  and  white  cravat,  whom  our  hero  at  once  recognized  as 
the  assistant  minister  of  the  Episcopal  church.  The  other  male 
boarders  were  Southern  students, — fellows  of  whom  Alban's 
principal  notion  was,  that  they  were  planters'  sons,  and  boarded 
*'  in  town."  There  were  also  several  ladies, — one  a  stately  South- 
ern matron  who  had  a  son  in  the  Freshman  class,  and  had  come 
on  to  be  near  him  ;  the  rest  were  single,  of  whom  the  prettiest  and 
youngest  was  a  niece  of  Mrs.  Hart's,  a  young  lady  of  extremely 
affable  manners,  and  very  nicely  dressed.  Indeed,  Alban,  who  had 
come  to  dine  quite  as  a  matter  of  business,  and  in  his  wonted 
recitation  gear,  observed  that  his  fellow-boarders  and  companions 
of  both  sexes  were  all  clothed  literally  in  purple  and  fine  hnen. 
Most  of  the  fellows  in  the  Senior  class  dressed  a  good  deal,  but 
our  hero  had  never  given  in  to  it.  His  shirts  were  still  fashioned 
in  the  simple  domestic  form  which  had  reigned  in  Babylon  in  his 
boyhood  ;  his  neck  was  encircled  by  a  plain  black  silk  handker- 
chief, tied  in  a  careless  bow  ;  a  blue  frock-coat,  threadbare  at  the 
elbows  and  whitish  in  the  seams,  had  seemed  to  him  good  enough 
even  for  a  morning  call  on  Miss  Ellsworth.  Now  he  perceived 
his  mistake.    He  resolved  that  he  would  have  a  black  suit  and  a 


ALBAN. 


123 


large  flowered  blue  cravat,  and,  to  say  the  least,  a  set  of  new 
collars. 

But  soup  was  served,  and  the  Rev.  Arthur  Soapstone  said 
grace  in  a  brief,  rotund  style,  which  said  as  plain  as  manner  could, 
"  This  act*3^erives  its  efficacy  from  my  legitimate  ordination  ;" 
which  our  hero,  however,  being  used  to  the  "personal  piety" 
manuer,  did  not  quite  comprehend.  His  reawakened  appetite 
did  not  allow  of  his  dwelling  much  on  the  subject,  and  very  soon, 
the  appearance  of  a  magnificent  roast  turkey,  accompanied  by  a 
truly  American  profusion  of  nicely  cooked  vegetables,  and  counter- 
poised by  a  superb  Virginia  ham,  dappled  with  pepper  and  adorn- 
ed with  sprigs  of  curled  parsley,  completed  the  temporary  victory 
of  gastronomy  over  all  other  sciences  in  our  young  friend's  esti- 
mation. It  was  not  till  the  third  course  (Massachusetts  par- 
tridges, &c.)  came  on,  to  tempt  too  far  his  yet  delicate  palate,  that 
Alban  began  to  open  the  ears  of  his  understanding  to  the  conver- 
sation. 

In  spite  of  his  white-seamed  blue  coat  and  primitive  shirt- 
collar,  not  only  the  pretty  Miss  Hart,  but  stately  Mrs.  Randolph 
Lee,  was  very  gracious  to  our  hero,  the  fact  being,  that  his  plain 
and  worn,  but  scrupulously  neat  garb  harmonized  exactly  with  the 
idea  which  (unknown  to  him)  all  had  formed  beforehand  of  the 
"talented"  Atherton.  Mr.  Soapstone  remarked  to  Alban  that  he 
had  heard  of  him  before,  through  some  young  ladies  of  "  the  parish." 
Miss  Ellsworth,  Alban  presumed  with  a  blush.  She  was  one. 
Mr.  Soapstone  inquired  if  he  were  not  a  member  of  the  "  College 
Church,"  as  he  believed  it  was  called.    Alban  assented,  adding, 

"  I  thought  you  had  been  a  Yale  man,  Mr.  Soapstone." 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Soapstone.  "  I  belonged  to  the 
Class  of  '26.  I  remember  I  had  a  classmate  of  your  name.  Mr. 
Hez-e-ki-ah  Atherton,  J  think." 

"  There  was  no  '  College  Church,'  I  suppose,  in  those  days," 
said  Alban,  in  perfect  good  faith. 

"Oh,  there  was  what  they  called  the  '  College  Church,'  the 
same  as  now,"  replied  Mr.  Soapstone. 


124 


ALBAN . 


Alban  was  puzzled.  He  was  not  yet  aware  that  the  Congre- 
gationahst  Churches  (so  called)  in  New  England  were  not  real 
churches,  but  only  conventicles.  However,  we  are  all  ignorant 
till  we  are  taught.  We  hope  our  High  Church  readers  will  not 
give  up  Alban  yet  on  the  ground  of  this  pitiable  lack  of  ecclesi- 
astical information  on  his  part  ;  he  may  live  to  be  as  great  a 
stickler  for  Apostolical  succession  as  they  can  desire.  He  nmay 
learn  to  call  the  "  New  England  Churches,"  as  they  were  termed 
by  his  ancestors,  "  synagogues  of  Satan,"  and  to  talk  of  schism  and 
heresy  as  confidently  as  the  best  of  them.  Alban,  however,  per- 
ceived that  some  insulting  sense  lay  couched  in  Mr.  Soapstone's 
emphasis,  so  he  tarried  not  in  replying. 

**  You  mean  to  imply  that  it  is  improper  to  speak  of  a  '  College 
Church  ?'  " 

"  I  mean,"  said  Mr.  Soapstone,  "  that  a  mere  association  of 
persons  who  are  mutually  satisfied  of  each  other's  personal  piety, 
and  who  agree  in  their  religious  opinions,  cannot  constitute  a 
Church." 

"  No,"  said  Alban,  "  of  course  they  must  also  unite  in 
Christian  ordinances." 

"  That  will  not  make  them  a  Church,"  replied  the  clergyman, 
with  a  bow  of  triumph,  "  unless  they  have  power  to  administer 
the  ordinances." 

"Do  I  understand  you,  sir,"  said  Alban,  "to  assert  that  the 
College  Church  has  not  the  power  to  administer  the  ordi- 
nances ?" 

"  I  do  assert  it  without  hesitation.  Allow  me  to  take  a  glass 
of  wine  with  you,  Mr.  Atherton.  I  hope  we  shall  some  day  have 
an  opportunity  of  discussing  the  grounds  of  my  assertion,  which,  I 
perceive,  surprises  you." 

"  It  seems  to  me  ridiculous,"  said  Alban,  very  good-naturedly, 
filling  his  glass  at  the  same  time.    "  I  dare  say  you  can  prove  it, 

though,  as  convincingly  as  Professor  F  does  the  inspiration 

of  the  Scriptures  ;  which  1  could  believe  more  easily  for  their  owti 
glorious  sake,  than  I  can  upon  his  arguments." 


ALB AN . 


125 


In  fact,  Alban,  when  he  found  there  was  an  Episcopal  clergy- 
man at  his  new  boarding-house,  had  immediately  thought  of  the 
opportunity  it  might  afford  him  to  obtain  a  new  solution  of  his 
doubts,  and  a  better  one  perhaps,  than  all  the  elaborate  historical 
deductions  of  his  Divinity  teachers  could  supply.  After  diuner,  he 
drew  Mr.  Soapstone  again  to  the  topic,  in  which  all  the  Southern- 
ers, although  perfectly  irreligious  young  men,  joined  with  great 
interest.  But  Mr.  Soapstone  seemed  unable  to  enter  into  the 
question  of  the  Christian  religion  itself  He  was  too  much  occu- 
pied wiih  that  of  the  right  to  administer  its  Sacraments.  At  first, 
indeed,  he  took  a  ground  which  seemed  novel,  by  saying  that  he 
believed  the  Scriptures  to  be  inspired,  on  the  testimony  of  the  an- 
cient Church  ;  but  when  pressed  to  say  how  he  knew  that  the 
ancient  Church  had  not  been  deceived  in  that  respect,  he  was 
unable  to  answer. 

"  The  canon  of  Scripture,"  said  Alban,  "  was  fixed,  you  say, 
by  the  Church,  in  the  fourth  or  fifth  century.  If  we  take  it  then 
at  her  hands,  because  she  could  not  err,  why  we  ought  to  take  in 
the  same  way  every  thing  else  that  the  Church  teaches,  and  then 
■we  shall  be  Roman  Catliolics  at  once." 

"  That's  a  fact  I"  cried  the  Southerners. 

"  If  she  could  err,"  continued  Alban,  as  Mr.  Soapstone  was 
silent,  "  then  we  must  not  accept  her  decision  bliudly.  We 
must  examine  the  question  for  ourselves.  And  so  we  get  back  to 
the  historical  argument  again,  which,  to  me,  is  wholly  uncon- 
vincing ;  and  it  perfectly  revolts  me,"  said  he,  warmly,  "to  be 
told  that  my  salvation  depends  on  my  being  convinced  by  it." 

"  You  are  an  iufidel,  then,"  said  the  clergyman,  waving  his 
hand,  as  if  such  a  being  were  unworthy  of  an  argument. 

"  No,"  said  Alban,  seriously.  "  I  am  not  an  infidel,  but  a 
Christian  sadly  perplexed.  I  do  not  know  how  much  I  ought  to 
believe.    I  do  not  know  why  I  ought  to  believe  it." 

"  Submit  to  the  Catholic  Church,  Mr.  Atherton,  and  she  will 

tell  you  what  to  believe,"  said  Mr.  Soapstone,  rising,  and  speaking 

with  animation  ;  "I  mean  to  that  pure  branch  of  it  which  is  es- 

11* 


126 


ALB AN. 


tablished  in  the  United  States."  So  saying,  Mr.  Soapstone  retired 
to  his  room. 

"The  man  is  crazy,"  observed  one  of  the  Southerners. 

"  On  that  subject  I  should  think  that  he  was,"  said  Alban. 

The  youno;  men,  who  at  first  had  regarded  our  hero  suspiciously, 
not  overlooking  the  white-seamed  coat  like  the  ladies,  seemed 
now  to  have  imbibed  a  quite  new  idea  of  him.  They  were  not 
of  his  class,  and  being  Calliopeans,  of  course  they  knew  nothing 
of  him  as  a  Society  man.  They  had  only  understood  that  he  was 
a  religious  fellow  and  a  Northerner.  They  now  broke  out  into 
warm  expressions  of  their  distaste  for  religion  in  any  shape,  except 
as  a  necessary  part  of  virtue  in  girls  of  good  family. 

"  My  God  I"  exclaimed  one  of  them,  with  the  rude  energy  of 
his  class  and  country,  "would  I  have  my  sister  an  infidel?  I 
reckon  not,  I  should  like  to  see  the  man  that  would  presume  to 
talk  infidel  to  a  sister  of  mine.  I  would  shoot  him  as  I  would  a 
dog." 

Alban  was  so  taken  by  surprise  that  he  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing at  the  oddity  of  their  expressions,  but  he  was  shocked  at  their 
sentiments.  It  seemed  to  him  that  both  sexes  had  the  same  in- 
terest in  truth,  and  the  same  obligation  to  purity.  This  they 
hooted  at,  not,  however,  in  an  unkindly  way.  Indeed,  though 
they  could  not  make  out  Alban,  they  took  a  great  fancy  to  him. 
They  had  never  seen  a  Northern  man  they  liked  so  much.  Al- 
ban's  strong  propensity  to  do  good  made  him  reason  with  them  on 
their  bad  principles,  and  while  they  maintained  that  love  was 
only  lust,  and  that  virtue  in  young  men  was  a  physical  impossi- 
bility, they  unconsciously  envied  him  as  he  vindicated  the  purity 
of  female  affection,  and  warmly  protested  that  he  would  rather 
die  than  violate  the  laws  of  chastity.  Atherton  would  always 
try  to  cut  blocks  with  a  razor. 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock  when  he  left  Mrs.  Hart's,  and  these 
'•lower  class  men  had  to  go  to  recitation.  There  was  no  Senior  lec- 
ture, and  he  was  strongly  moved  to  call  on  some  of  his  new  female 
friends.    Mrs.  Hart's  boarding-house  was  on  that  side  of  the  towu 


AL  B AN . 


127 


where  (but  just  out  of  it)  Miss  De  Groot's  friends  lived.  He  had 
never  yet  called  upon  her.  It  was  a  duty  neglected.  He  found 
that  it  would  be  just  a  pleasant  walk  up  the  leafless  avenue  half 
choked  with  snow.  The  mansion  stood  on  an  eminence  with 
lawns  around,  an  extensive  wood  and  hill  in  the  rear.  It  was  of 
gray  stucco,  with  an  Ionic  portico,  from  which  the  view  was  fine, 
especially  by  that  evening  light.  Alban  was  admitted  immedi- 
ately, and  ushered  without  much  form  into  a  sitting-room  that 
looked  towards  the  west,  where  he  found  Miss  De  Groot  and  an- 
other lady,  sitting  by  a  window  that  came  down  to  the  floor  ;  the 
former  was  reading  aloud  and  the  latter  was  at  work.  Miss  De 
Groot  put  down  the  book  and  rose  to  greet  him.  When  she  had 
introduced  him  to  her  hostess,  and  resumed  her  seat  in  the  window, 
her  lovely  face  was  flushed,  and  her  eyes  were  bent  upon  the 
carpet,  with  that  shy  look  which  he  had  observed  at  their  first 
meeting.  It  was  not  one  of  the  houses  where  young  students  felt 
themselves  at  liberty  to  call  without  ceremony,  and  Miss  De  Groot's 
shy  manner  made  Alban  feel  some  doubt  as  to  his  position,  partic- 
ularly as  she  had  never,  like  Miss  Ellsworth,  invited  him  to  call 
upon  her.  There  was  nothing  said  either,  that  tended  to  relieve 
this  awkwardness.  Miss  Everett — the  hostess  of  his  young  ac- 
quaintance— a  maiden  lady  of  a  certain  age,  sat  very  quietly  on 
her  ottoman,  working  at  an  embroidery  frame  by  the  fine  western 
light,  with  her  richly  flounced  black  silk  dress  spreading  around 
her  in  great  state,  her  gold  watch-chain,  gold  keys,  gold  pencil, 
dangling  at  her  waist,  and  seemed  to  think  that  she  was  not 
called  upon  to  say  any  thing  to  the  student  who  had  called  to  see 
Miss  De  Groot.  Alban  was  obliged  to  open  the  conversation  by 
remarking  upon  the  beauty  of  the  winter  weather,  the  continuance 
of  the  sleighing,  &c.,  hoping  that  Miss  De  Groot  did  not  take  cold 
after  their  sleigh-ride. 

*'  A  slight  one,"  replied  Miss  De  Groot,  raising  her  eyes  from 
the  carpet,  "  but  I  got  quite  over  it  a  fortnight  ago." 

"Is  it  so  long  since  our  sleigh-ride  ?"  said  Alban  wdth  embar- 
rassment. 


128 


ALBAN. 


"  How  long  is  it  since  I  took  that  sleigh-ride  with  Mary  Ells- 
worth and  the  girls,  cousin  Harriet  ?  Oh,  it  must  be  more  than 
a  fortnight  since," 

"  'Tvvas  a  fortnight  last  Tuesday,"  said  Miss  Everett. 

"  I  have  been  so  busy  preparing  for  the  Exhibition,"  said  Al- 
ban,  "  that  time  has  slipped  away  insensibly." 

"  Mary  Ellsworth  told  me  as  a  secret  that  you  were  writing, 
or,  as  I  understood  her,  had  written,  a  tragedy.  I  believe  you  are 
very  well  acquainted  with  Miss  Ellsworth,  Mr.  Atherton  ?" 

"  My  acquaintance  with  her  dates  from  the  fair  at  which  I 
had  also  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Miss  De  Groot  for  the  first  time," 
said  Alban. 

"  But  that's  a  month  ago,"  said  Miss  De  Groot,  "  and  you  have 
seen  her  almost  every  day  since,  have  you  not  ?  No  I  "Well,  I 
hardly  ever  see  Mary  that  she  doesn't  speak  of  your  calling  the 
day  before." 

"  Have  you  been  invited  yet  to  our  Exhibition,  Miss  De  Groot  ? 
If  not,  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  send  tickets  for  Miss  Everett  and 
yourself." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr,  Atherton,  three  or  four  gentlemen  have 
already  made  us  the  same  kind  ofier," 

"  But  you  have  declined  it  from  them  all,  Mary,"  observed 
Miss  Everett.    "  Don't  you  mean  to  go  to  the  Exhibition  ?" 

"  I  can  not  only  send  you  tickets  but  reserve  you  places," 
said  Alban,  "  although,  from  my  duties  on  the  night  of  the  Exhi- 
bition, I  can  not  personally  wait  upon  you,  ladies,  to  the  Society's 
room," 

"  That  would  suit  us  exactly,"  said  Miss  De  Groot,  addressing 
her  hostess,  "We  really  do  not  need  a  beau  on  the  occasion,  so 
I  think  that  I  will  accept  your  offer,  Mr.  Alban,  if  Miss  Everett 
is  willing." 

"  Of  course  I  shall  go  on  your  account,  dear,"  said  Miss  Everett. 
"  I  really  want  you  to  see  one  of  the  Exhibitions.  We  are  very 
much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Atherton,  I  am  sure." 

Alban  did  not  feel  particularly  flattered  at  the  manner  in  which 


ALBAN. 


129 


his  offer  had  been  accepted.  Was  Miss  De  Groot  vexed  that  he 
had  deferred  so  long  calling  upon  her  ? 

"  I  should  have  taken  the  liberty  of  coming  to  see  you  much 
sooner,  Miss  Mary,"  he  said,  resolved  to  try  this  tack,  "  if  I  had  not 
been  afraid  of  Miss  Everett." 

"  Miss  De  Groot's  friends  are  all  very  welcome  here,  I  assure 
you,  sir,"  replied  that  lady,  slightly  smihng  at  this  sally  of  the 
young  student. 

Miss  De  Groot  blushed,  and  said,  "  I  should  have  been  very 
happy  to  see  you  if  you  had  called,  Mr.  Alban." 

"  How  have  you  enjoyed  your  residence  at  New  Haven  ?" 
asked  Miss  Everett,  wishing  to  be  civil  to  him  since  he  had 
promised  them  tickets. 

"  I  never  liked  any  other  place  half  so  well." 

"  You  are  like  Mary.  But  she  has  only  seen  it  in  winter,  I  tell 
her.    She  can  form  no  idea  of  what  it  is  in  summer." 

"  It  would  have  the  same  charm  for  me  at  all  seasons,"  said 
Miss  De  Groot,  looking  out  of  the  window  towards  West  Rock. 
"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Alban,"  turning  to  him,  "  that  I  do  so  wish 
I  were  a  young  man,  so  that  I  could  be  a  student.  Every  time 
that  I  see  one  in  my  walks,  entering  one  of  those  old  colleges,  I 
quite  envy  him." 

"  I  think  I  have  seen  you  at  the  chemical  lecture,"  said  Alban, 
wondering  if  after  all  Miss  De  Groot  were  not  a  flirt. 

"  She  is  crazy  to  attend  them,"  said  Miss  Everett,  "  but  she 
complains  that  the  students  look  at  her  too  mucli  when  we  come 
away." 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  fair  I"  exclaimed  Miss  De  Groot,  crimsoning 
to  the  temples.  "  Really,  cousin  Harriet  I  But  I  hope  Mr.  Alban 
will  not  repeat  such  a  thing." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Alban,  "  although  I  think  it  is  very 
rude  in  our  fellows.  For  my  part,  I  have  always  kept  back, 
although  I  had  the  honor  of  knowing  Miss  De  Groot,  fearing 
that  it  would  be  an  annoyance  to  her  to  be  saluted  by  so  many 
young  men." 


130 


ALB AN . 


"  Papa  has  told  me,  and  so  has  Mr.  Everett,  of  Itahan  ladies 
of  birth  and  beauty,"  said  Miss  De  Groot,  addressing  Alban  with 
animation,  "  who  went  regularly  through  the  University,  attending 
the  lectures  in  scholars'  gowns,  and  taking  all  the  degrees,  yes, 
and  lecturing  afterwards,  themselves,  to  learned  audiences.  That 
(except  the  last)  is  what  I  should  like." 

"  College  would  be  an  enchanting  place  with  such  classmates," 
said  Alban. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Alban,  you  put  down  my  enthusiasm  with  a  com- 
pliment. I  see  1  must  be  resigned  to  being  a  pretty  girl  and 
knowing  nothing.  If  it  had  but  pleased  Heaven  to  make  me 
plain,  it  would  have  suited  me  better,  I  assure  you.  It  is  so 
humiliating  to  be  made  a  toy  of,  when  one  is  thirsting  for  knowl- 
edge." 

The  young  face  glowed  with  indignation  and  pride,  and  the 
fine — excessively  fine — eyes  were  raised  to  Alban's  with  a  degree 
of  spirit  and  courage  which  he  had  neverobserved  in  them  beibre. 
Indeed,  they  shot  fire.  Miss  Everett  glanced  from  her  to  Alban, 
with  an  expressive  shrug. 

"  You  ought  not  to  repine,  Miss  De  Groot,  at  the  part  assigned 
to  your  sex  by  the  will  of  God — ought  you  ?"  said  Alban. 

"  It's  not  the  will  of  God,  Mr.  Alban,  that  we  should  be 
regarded  in  the  light  I  complain  of  It  is  your  will,  and  our 
weakness."  She  was  still  angrily  flushed,  so  that  Alban  thought 
involuntarily  of  that  cherub  "  severe  in  youthful  beauty."  "  What 
right,"  she  exclaimed,  "have  you  thus  to  confine  us  to  frivolous 
pursuits — to  persecute  us  with  thoughts  that  destroy  our  self- 
respect  !  On  every  side  it  meets  us,  and  for  my  part  I  should  be 
glad  to  go  into  a  convent  or  anywhere,  to  be  environed  no  longer 
by  this  degrading  admiration." 

"  My  dear  I"  said  Miss  Everett,  reprovingly,  for  Alban  was 
completely  silenced,  "  you  are  ungrateful  to  talk  in  that  manner. 
How  many  girls  would  be  glad  to  have  half  the  beauty  that  pro- 
cures you  so  much  notice.  Most,  indeed,  complain  of  nothing  but 
neglect." 


AL  B AN . 


131 


Miss  De  Groot  sprang  up  hastily  from  her  seat,  book  in  hand, 
ran  to  the  pier-glass,  (there  was  one  that  came  down  to  the  floor,) 
and  surveyed  herself  in  it.  She  was  attired  in  the  same  plain, 
somewhat  scant  black  silk  which  she  had  worn  at  the  sleigh-ride, 
and,  as  then,  it  was  wholly  unrelieved  by  any  of  the  light  orna- 
ments or  trimmings  with  which  females  take  so  much  pleasure  in 
setthig  off  their  charms.  Such  was  then  the  mode  for  school- 
girls, but  young  ladies  brought  out  hke  Miss  De  Groot,  seldom 
adopted  it  unless  in  the  retired  hours  of  the  morning.  But  her 
exquisite  loveliness  defied  the  sombre  and  in  itself  ungraceful 
garb.  She  looked  at  herself  steadily  a  few  moments,  while  Alban 
wondered.  Not  the  slightest  shade  of  self-complacency  was  dis- 
cernible on  the  soft,  girlish  countenance  which  he  saw  reflected 
in  the  mirror,  but  her  sparkling  resentment  gradually  subsided 
into  melancholy  sweetness — a  sort  of  self-pity,  and  her  eyes  sank 
modestly  as  she  resumed  her  seat.  She  addressed  Alban  as  if  she 
had  forgotten  the  singular  excitement  under  which  she  had 
uttered  things  so  remarkable  for  a  girl  of  her  age,  and,  as  Alban 
thought,  scarcely  feminine  in  sentiment. 

"  Do  you  understand  German,  Mr.  Alban  ?  I  was  reading  a 
German  romance  to  Miss  Everett  when  you  came  in.  It  is  called 
Ondine,  and  is  very,  very  beautiful." 

There  was  something  very  pretty  in  her  way  of  saying  this. 
At  Alban's  request  she  gave  him  an  outline  of  the  story,  which 
interested  him. 

"  The  manner  in  which  it  is  told  is  every  thing,"  she  said. 

Alban  had  frequently  glanced  round  the  apartment  with  an 
observant  eye  during  this  conversation.  It  had  an  aspect  of 
urban  luxury,  not  usual  in  New  Haven.  A  sea-coal  fire  blazed 
within  the  mantel-piece  of  black  marble  ;  there  were  silken  dra- 
peries, rosewood  furniture.  On  one  side  of  the  high,  polished 
mahogany  door,  stood  a  piano  open.  He  ventured  to  ask  Miss  De 
Groot  for  so  rue  music.  He  had  heard  of  her  singing  and  playing 
as  something  quite  superior. 

"It  is,"  said  Miss  Everett.    "  Do,  Mary,  play  something  for 


132 


ALBAN. 


Mr.  Atlierton,  to  show  him  that  you  are  not  quite  such  a  little 
savag-e  as  he  suspects." 

"  No,  not  to-day,"  said  Miss  De  Groot,  in  an  absolute  way. 
"  The  next  time  he  comes  to  see  us  I  will  play  for  him  as  much 
as  he  hkes." 

The  college  and  the  town  clock  struck  five,  and  the  chapel- 
bell  began  to  ring  for  prayers  cheerily.    Our  hero  rose  to  go.  ^ 

*'  Ah,  that  is  for  chapel,  is  it,  Mr.  Alban  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  you  are  not  obliged  to  be  in  your  place  among 
the  Freshmen,"  he  replied,  smiling. 

"So  am  I,"  she  ans\vered,  rather  gravely,  although  her  lips 
smiled.  Her  dark  eyes  looked  up  to  him  more  sad  than  merry 
for  a  half  minute,  and  then  were  withdrawn  according  to  her 
wont.  "  I  would  wear  a  thick  green  veil  to  the  chemical  lecture," 
she  added,  "  if  I  were  not  afraid  somebody  would  divine  my 
motive.  Please,  Mr.  Atherton,  keep  my  little  eccentricities  to 
yourself." 

"  How  much  character  she  has  I"  he  thought,  as  he  hurried 
down  the  avenue.  "  Rather  more  than  I  like,  but  I  don't  think 
she  can  be  a  flirt :  time  will  show." 


ALBAN. 


133 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Conversations  with  Mr.  Soapstone  occurred  daily,  and  more 
than  once  a  day.  Breakfast,  dinner,  or  tea  seldom  passed  without 
Mr.  Soapstone  finding  some  occasion  to  insinuate  or  proclaim  his 
views  of  the  Church,  and  Alban  made  so  many  hypothetical  ad- 
missions that  the  clergyman  was  the  more  irritated,  and  yet  urged 
on,  by  his  obstinate  skepticism.  On  one  point  the  High  Churchman 
speedily  obtained  a  victory.  He  convinced  Alban  that  Baptismal 
Regeneration  was  the  doctrine  of  the  New  Testament ;  but  this,  in 
the  latter's  peculiar  state  of  mind,  only  set  him  to  weighing  how 
far  the  Apostles  and  Evangelists  themselves  were  worthy  of  cre- 
dence, in  matters,  as  he  said,  of  opinion.  Meanwhile  Christmas 
week  arrived,  and  one  evening  after  tea  the  Episcopal  minister 
broke  off  his  customary  argument  to  visit  the  chapel  which  was 
his  special  charge.  He  invited  Alban  to  accompany  him,  and  our 
young  friend,  who  liked  to  hear  Mr.  Soapstone  talk,  readily  con- 
sented. 

*'  The  chapel  is  gothic,  you  observe,  Mr.  Atherton,"  said  the 
clergyman  as  they  approached  it.  "  Mark  the  picturesqueness  of 
its  hooded  towers  against  the  night  sky  I  How  superior  to  those 
poor  Grecian  fronts  with  wooden  spires  erected  by  the  schismatics 
on  the  green  I  It  was  the  Catholic  Church  that  perfected  the 
glorious  pointed  architecture." 

"  Of  which  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  in  the  United 
States  is  the  modern  representative,"  observed  Alban. 

"  Say  rather  the  purest  modern  Branch,"  said  Mr.  Soapstone. 

"  That  is  what  I  meant  to  say,"  returned  our  hero.  "The 
other  branches  are  rotten,  and  he  who  hangs  by  them  will  be  apt 
to  catch  a  fall.  If  one  could  onlij  he  sure  tltat  tJiis  one  ivas 
sound.    However  I" 

They  entered  the  chapel  by  an  obscure  vestibule  choked  with 

12 


134 


ALB AN . 


greens.  The  interior  presented  a  white-walled  oblong,  with  a 
plaster  ceiling.  A  gallery,  painted  in  imitation  of  oak,  and  carved 
in  a  running  ogive  pattern,  ran  round  three  sides,  and  was  already 
hung  with  heavy  festoons  ef  evergreen,  intermingled  with  the  huge 
letters  of  an  inscription.  The  aisles  (an  incorrect  term,  as  Mr. 
Soapstone  observed)  were  littered  with  boughs  of  pine,  spruce,  and 
cedar,  and  a  large  party  of  young  gentlemen  and  ladies  were  dis- 
persed through  the  church,  tying  wreaths,  dressing  columns,  or 
planning  where  to  place  inscriptions.  There  was  a  good  deal  of 
talking,  and  occasionally  a  laugh. 

The  principal  operators  were  collected  in  the  chancel.  A 
couple  of  young  ladies  were  in  the  pulpit.  They  were  covering 
the  purple-velvet  book-cushion  with  white,  which  was  to  be 
trimmed  with  evergreen.  Below  them,  a  young  gentleman 
mounted  on  the  reading  desk,  was  affixing  a  sacred  symbol  in 
laurel  to  the  front  of  the  pulpit,  an  operation  which  other  young 
ladies  were  anxiously  watching  from  below.  On  one  side,  a  long 
slender  ladder  rested  against  the  wall  ;  and  in  front  of  the  desk, 
between  the  communion  table  and  the  rail,  some  six  or  seven 
young  people  of  both  sexes  were  consulting  about  the  mode  of 
putting  up  the  chief  inscription  by  which  the  chancel  was  to  be 
adorned.  Some  sat  on  the  rails  ;  one  young  lady  was  half 
sitting  on  the  holy  table  itself,  which  had  on  it  besides,  some  ever- 
green twigs,  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  a  ball  of  twine.  A  lamp  or 
two  along  the  gallery,  and  tallow  candles  on  the  desk,  illumined 
this  scene. 

"  Hats  on  I"  was  the  first  low  exclamation  of  the  minister. 
He  walked  hastily  up  the  middle  aisle.  "  Do  you  know,"  said 
he,  addressing  a  young  man,  "  that  this  is  a  consecrated  build- 
ing?" 

In  a  few  minutes,  by  dint  of  like  reproofs,  and  of  the  signs 
which  the  guilty  individuals  made  to  others,  all  the  hats  were 
removed.    Mr.  Soapstone  approached  the  chancel. 

"  What,  young  ladies  I  sitting  on  the  communion  rail  I  sitting 
on  the  altar  I  Miss  Reynolds  !" 


ALB AN . 


135 


"  I  declare  I  didn't  know  that  it  loas  an  altar,  Mr.  Soapstone !" 
said  the  yoiuig  lady,  starting  np  with  a  blush. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Ellsworth  ?  Pray,  Miss  Ellsworth,  let  those 
articles  be  removed  from  the  altar.  This  is  really  a — desecra- 
tion of  which  1  should  not  have  expected  Church  people  to  be 
guilty." 

Miss  Ellsworth  was  conversing  with  Mr.  St.  Clair  on  the  cul- 
ture of  the  sentiment  of  veneration  by  the  usages  of  the  Episcopal 
Church,  and  she  colored  violently  at  this  address. 

"  We  must  have  wme  place  to  lay  things,"  she  said,  rather 
shortly,  "  and  I  suppose,  Mr.  Soapstone,  there  is  no  peculiar  holi- 
ness in  the  table  itself." 

"  We  always,  laid  the  things  we  used  in  dressing  the  church 
on  the  communion  table,  and  Mr.  — — -  (naming  Mr.  Soapstone's 
predecessor)  never  reproved  us  for  it,"  cried  Miss  Reynolds. 

"  Are  we  to  put  the  ball  of  twine  in  our  pockets  ?"  demanded 
a  black-eyed  gipsy,  "  and  set  the  young  gentlemen  hunting  for  it 
till  they  find  it  ?  That  will  be  the  best  way,  I  think,  Kate," 
flinging  back  her  curls. 

"  Now  this  shows  the  importance  of  the  appropriate  arrange- 
ment of  chancels,"  observed  Mr.  Soapstone  to  Alban.  "  If  the 
altar  here  were  a  foot  higher,  a  young  lady  could  not  sit  on  it ; 
and  if  it  were  set  against  the  eastern  wall,  as  it  should  be,  and 
raised  a  few  steps  above  the  chancel  floor,  no  one  would  think  of 
laying  things  upon  it.  I  hope  to  see  it  done  yet,  and  the  pulpit 
and  desk  turned  out  altogether.  The  chancel,  Mr.  Atherton, 
should  be  appropriated  to  the  altar  alone." 

Miss  Ellsworth  dissented  from  these  principles.  She  thought 
the  pulpit  would  be  very  inconveniently  placed  for  hearing  and 
seeing,  anywhere  but  exactly  where  it  stood.  Mr.  Soapstone  and 
she  argued  the  matter  at  some  length.  He  pronounced  the  exist- 
ing arrangement  of  the  chancel  Genevan,  and  said  that  it 
savored  of  "  anti-sacramental  heresy."  She  was  afraid  that  her 
pastor's  ideas  about  the  altar  savored  of  anti-protestant  supersti- 
tion.   Nor  was  she,  it  may  be  imagined,  disposed  to  be  complying 


136 


ALBAN. 


when  Mr.  Soapstone  suggested  that  a  pair  of  plated  candlesticks 
should  be  put  upon  the  altar  when  it  was  dressed.  Miss  Ellsworth 
thought  that  candles  on  the  altar  were  a  symbol  of  Popery.  She 
was  sure  it  would  give  oflence  ;  she  would  not  have  any  thing  to 
do  with  dressing  the  church  if  it  were  persisted  in  ;  she  had  been 
decidedly  opposed  to  a  cross  among  the  decorations  ;  candles  were 
worse.  Mr.  Soapstone  was  obliged  to  yield  the  point  for  the  pres- 
ent. The  only  voice  raised  to  sustain  him  was  Miss  De  Groot's. 
She  had  first  suggested  the  cross,  and  she  approved  of  the  lights. 
Both,  she  thought,  had  a  beautiful  significance.  But  as  Miss  De 
Groot  was  a  Unitarian,  her  support  rather  injured  Mr.  Soapstone's 
cause. 

The  Christmas  dressing  meanwhile  proceeded.  The  inscription 
was  got  up,  and  was  beautiful  : — Emmanuel,  in  letters  formed  of 
wild  laurel,  on  a  ground  of  white  artificial  roses.  The  chancel 
was  gradually  converted  into  a  bower  of  evergreens  mixed  with 
flowers, 

"  There  is  one  other  point,"  observed  Mr.  Soapstone  to  Alban, 
"  that  I  should  like  to  press,  but  1  abstain  on  account  of  Miss 
Ellsworth's  irritation.  The  young  gentlemen  have  taken  off  their 
hats,  which  is  well  ;  but  the  young  ladies,  on  the  other  hand, 
should  put  on  their  bonnets.  All  those  ringleted  and  braided 
heads  in  the  very  sanctuary  are  extremely  out  of  place." 

"  Miss  De  Groot  keeps  on  her  hood." 

"  She  has  a  fine  sense  of  propriety.  She  would  become  a  con- 
sistent church-woman  with  a  little  instruction.  I  think  she  has 
already  a  tendency.  I  must  lend  her  some  books.  Let  us  go  and 
speak  to  her." 

Miss  De  Groot  had  retreated  with  the  Miss  Reynolds  who  had 
sat  on  the  altar,  to  a  distant  pew  where  they  were  working  to- 
gether on  a  wreath.  Some  young  gentlemen  who  approached 
them  had  already  been  sent  away  with  short  answers.  Alban  fol- 
lowed his  reverend  friend  slowly,  as  doubting  whether  the  young 
ladies  did  not  prefer  to  be  left  alone.  Miss  Ellsworth  also  detained 
him  by  asking  his  advice.    He  came  up  to  the  retired  party  in 


ALB AN . 


137 


time  to  hear  Mr.  Soapstone  say,  "  Were  you  baptized  in  the  Uni- 
tarian denomination,  Miss  De  Groot  ?" 

"  I  was  never  baptized  at  all,  sir." 

"  Never  baptized,  Mary  !"  cried  Miss  Reynolds. 

"  Never  baptized.  Miss  Mary  I"  exclaimed  Alban. 

"  Papa  does  not  believe  in  infant  baptism." 

Mr.  Soapstone  seemed  less  shocked  than  our  hero  expected. 

"  If  you  become  a  church-woman,  Miss  De  Groot,"  he  said, 
"  you  will  have  no  schismatical  baptism  to  give  you  scruples." 

"  But  this  makes  Miss  De  Groot  absolutely  a  heathen,  does  it 
not  ?"  asked  Alban. 

"  She  is  not  worse  off  than  half  my  flock,"  replied  the  Episcopal 
minister,  coolly,  "  who  were  originally  Congregationalists,  and  have 
never  received  a  valid  baptism." 

"  Like  me,"  said  Miss  Reynolds. 

"  Mr.  Soapstone  puts  us  in  the  same  category,  Mr.  Alban,"  said 
Mar}''  De  Groot,  looking  up  with  a  smile,  "  so  you  need  not  look 
down  on  me  so  pityingly." 

Alban  was  silent,  pondering  the  mystery  of  his  own  inconsist- 
ency, how,  while  he  was  questioning  the  truth  of  Christianity  itself, 
he  should  be  so  much  shocked  at  another's  wanting  its  initiatory 
Sacrament. 

"  There,"  said  Miss  De  Groot  at  last,  holding  up  the  result  of 
her  industry,  "  whether  I  am  a  Christian  or  not,  I  have  made  you 
a  cross  of  native  holly,  Mr.  Soapstone." 

Mr.  Soapstone  was  dehghted.  Alban,  even  after  all  he  had 
seen  of  him,  was  a  good  deal  surprised  at  the  undignified  eagerness 
with  which  he  caught  at  the  prospect  of  setting  up  a  cross  of  ever- 
greens over  his  altar,  although  well  aware  that  it  would  give 
great  offence  to  at  least  half  his  parishioners.  He  seemed  to  think 
that  if  the  material  symbol  could  once  be  set  there,  it  was  a  great 
point  gained  in  the  progress,  as  he  expressed  it,  of  Catholicism  in 
the  Church. 

The  cross,  nevertheless,  was  finally  placed  over  the  commu- 
nion-table, and  then,  as  Mr.  Soapstone  could  not  bear  to  leave  his 

12* 


138 


ALBAN. 


work  unfinished,  the  candles  were  set  iqjon  it.  This  procedure 
caused  many  heart-burnings  in  the  parish,  although  the  Protestant 
mind  was  then  far  less  sensitive  than  Puseyism  has  since  made  it. 
Miss  Ellsworth,  who  "  had  set  her  face  against  the  cross,"  as 
Mary  De  Groot  said,  was  highly  displeased.  Alban  was  curious 
to  know  from  what  motives  the  latter  young  lady  had  acted. 
They  seemed  to  be  mixed  ; — a  little  malice  towards  Miss  Ells- 
w^orth,  some  wilfulness  about  having  her  own  way,  the  love  of 
what  was  in  itself  beautiful  and  perfect,  and,  at  the  bottom  of  all, 
a  lurking,  hardly  conscious  devotion  to  the  Cross  as  the  symbol  of 
redemption.  As  they  were  all  leaving  the  church,  she  turned 
back,  and  unobserved,  except  by  Alban,  who  was  furtively  watch- 
ing her,  slightly  bent  her  knee  towards  the  simple  altar. 

"  In  what  light  do  you  regard  Christ  ?"  asked  Alban,  as  he 
walked  by  her  side.  "  Do  you  regard  Him  as  in  any  sense  your 
Saviour?" 

"  Why,  Mr.  Atherton,  what  a  question  I  Of  course,  I  do. 
Does  not  the  Bible  say  that  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  our  Saviour  ? 
Do  you  really  suppose  that  Unitarians  are  heathens  ?" 

"  But  does  not  God  say  in  the  Bible,  '  Beside  me  there  is  no 
Saviour  ?'  If  Christ  is  our  Saviour,  it  appears  to  me  that  He 
must  be  our  God." 

"  It  is  a  sweet  idea,"  said  Mary  De  Groot,  "that  Christ  is  our 
God  ;  I  could  adore  Him  with  all  my  heart  if  I  were  not  afraid  of 
committing  idolatry." 

"  The  real  idolatry,  it  seems  to  me,  would  be  in  ascribing  sal- 
vation to  a  creature." 

Miss  De  Groot  half  apologized  to  Alban  for  accepting  his 
I  escort  home,  although  she  had  taken  his  proflered  arm  as  a  matter 
of  course. 

*'  I  have  been  here  almost  all  the  afternoon,"  she  said.  "  I 
had  no  idea  of  being  kept  so  late." 

"  To  see  you  home  is  an  envied  privilege,  Miss  Mary — if  you 
will  overlook  the  compliment." 

"  Oh  !  I  overlook  a  great  many  every  day,"  she  replied. 


AL  B AN . 


139 


Our  hero's  theological  notions  were  now  so  completely  topsy- 
turvy that  he  refrained  from  speaking  of  Miss  De  Groot's  unbap- 
tized  condition,  although  he  kept  thinking  of  it.  She  herself, 
after  replying  absently  to  several  observations  of  his  on  light 
topics,  alluded  again  to  this. 

"  Is  it  worse  to  be  unbaptized  than  to  be  a  Unitarian  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  According  to  Mr.  Soapstone  it  makes  you  a  child  of  wrath, 
Miss  Mary." 

"  Oh  I  do  you  believe  in  original  sin,  then  ?" 
"It  M^as  the  doctrine  of  the  Apostles." 

"  Then,  for  example,  I  am  a  totally  depraved  creature.  That 
must  be  false,"  she  exclaimed,  indignantly.  "  I  know  I  have 
faults.  You  may  call  them  sins,  if  you  please.  But  I  have  some 
virtues  too.  I  always  endeavor  to  act  justly  by  others.  I  am 
conscientious  about  myself — far  more  so,  Mr.  Alban,"  she  added 
proudly,  "  than  these  young  ladies  who  say  that  I  am  no  Chris- 
tian. I  would  sooner  die  than  utter  a  falsehood,  or  admit  an 
impure  thought."  She  spoke  in  a  sweet,  sweet  voice,  but  with 
vehemence. 

"  You  never  told  a  lie  ?" 

"  Never  deliberately,  since  I  was  a  very  little  girl,  Mr.  Alban. 
And  I  have  told  the  truth  a  thousand  times  when  I  was  sure  to 
be  punished  or  ridiculed  for  it." 

"  From  pride,  perhaps,"  said  Alban,  "  which  is  the  sin  of  sins." 

"  Because  I  wish  and  mean  to  be  a  good  girl, — if  that  is  pride." 

"  The  true  motive  would  be  the  love  of  God,  who  forbids  and 
hates  lying,"  said  Alban. 

"  Do  you  always  act  from  that  motive,  Mr.  Alban  ?"  she  de- 
manded, after  a  pause,  and  half  sobbing  like  a  child  reproved. 

"  Indeed  I  fear  not,"  said  Alban,  soothingly. 

'i  Papa  taught  me  when  I  was  little  that  it  was  noble  to  tell 
the  truth,  and  that  a  liar  was  despicable,"  said  Miss  De  Groot, 
recovering  herself.  "  But  I  try  to  act  from  the  better  motive  you 
spoke  of  just  now,  Mr.  Alban,  for  I  had  a  friend  who  taught  me 


140 


ALB AN. 


to.  She  used  to  say  that  truth  and  purity  were  no  virtues  if  they 
proceeded  from  any  other  ;  but  that  vexed  me  to  hear." 

"  Do  you  then  expect  to  merit  heaven  by  your  good  life,  Miss 
Mary  ?"  said  Alban,  as  a  last  resource. 

"  No,  Mr.  Alban,  I  expect  that  from  God's  infinite  goodness. 
He  gave  me  my  being  and  a  thousand  good  gifts  for  which  I  daily 
thank  Him,  without  any  merit  of  mine.  He  will  give  me,  I 
trust,  a  blissful  immortality  in  the  same  way.  In  that  sense,  as 
papa  says,  I  allow  that  salvation  is  of  grace." 

"  There  is  more  truth  in  your  way  of  thinking  than  many  of 
my  friends  would  allow,"  replied  Alban.  "  But  where  does  Christ 
come  in,  on  your  system  ?    How  is  He  your  Saviour 

"  Mr.  Alban,  I  will  be  candid.  I  am  not  contented  with  my 
own  thoughts  about  Christ,  nor  with  my  father's  explanation  how 
He  saves  us.  I  say  my  prayers  in  His  name,  but  what  that 
means,  is  dark  to  me." 

At  the  foot  of  the  avenue  they  met  Mr.  Everett,  Miss  De 
Groot's  bachelor  host,  coming  for  her.  Alban,  therefore,  reluc- 
tantly resigned  his  charge,  who,  on  her  part,  however,  bade  him 
good  night  with  no  outward  sign  of  regret.  As  he  watched  them 
from  a  distance  going  up  the  snowy  avenue  he  heard  them  laugh- 
ing gayly. 

Mary  De  Groot  was  giving  her  new  companion  a  droll  ac- 
count of  the  scenes  at  church.  When  they  reached  home,  she  had 
to  tell  it  all  again  to  Miss  Everett,  and  again  there  was  much 
pleasantry  at  the  expense  of  the  Episcopalians.  Perhaps  it  was 
rather  unsympathizing  and  contemptuous  in  its  tone.  A  glass  of 
cold  water  and  a  dry  biscuit  were  brought  in  for  Miss  De  Groot, 
who  had  not  supped,  and  then,  without  prayers,  but  with  very  af- 
fectionate good-nights,  the  brother  and  sister  and  their  youthful 
guest  departed  to  their  several  chambers. 

Mary  De  Groot  did  not  linger  in  the  sitting-room  to  put  up 
her  hair,  say  her  prayers,  or  unhook  her  dress  ; — perhaps,  because 
there  was  a  hickory  fire  and  Miss  Everett's  maid  waiting  for  her 
in  her  own  room.    Her  simple  night-toilet  was  soon  dispatched, 


ALBAN. 


141 


she  was  left  alone,  and,  kneeling  down  at  the  side  of  the  French 
bed  which  graced  the  Everetts'  elegant  guest-chamber,  blessed 
Pierself,  as  a  Catholic  would  express  it,  i.  e.,  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross  from  the  forehead  to  the  breast,  and  folding  her  hands,  said 
"  Oar  Father"  slowly  in  a  low  voice.  Then  she  blessed  herself 
again,  as  her  Catholic  mother  doubtless  had  taught  her  in  infancy, 
and  so  with  this  simple  devotion  laid  herself  to  rest. 

Fair  child  of  the  first  Adam  1  but  not  unconscious  haply  of 
the  faint  impulsions  of  prevenient  grace,  and  saved  yet  by  the 
sign  on  thy  forehead  from  the  adversary  qui  tanquam  leo  rugiens 
circuit,  qucerens  quern  devoret, — may  pitying  angels  guard  thy 
virgin  repose. 


142 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  X.  « 

The  chapel  which  our  young  friends  had  assisted  to  adorn 
■was  excessively  crowded  at  the  service  on  Christmas  Eve.  The 
chancel  was  much  admired,  particularly  the  effect  of  the  numer- 
ous lights  of  the  pulpit,  desk,  and  communion  tahle,  ghttering 
among  the  fresh  evergreens.  The  centre,  however,  of  this  illumi- 
nation, was  Mr.  Soapstone  himself,  first  in  the  desk  in  his  surplice, 
and  then  in  the  pulpit  in  his  gown,  Mr.  Soapstone,  though  a  res- 
olute Laudian,  (for  the  name  of  Puseyite  was  not  yet  famiharly 
know'n,)  stuck  to  the  gown.  He  looked  well  in  it,  and  particularly 
well  that  evening.  The  white  "  choker,"  as  O'Connor  profanely 
called  Mr.  Soapstone's  cravat,  and  the  cambric  bands  were  beau- 
tifully relieved  by  the  black  cassock,  and  the  ample  silken  sleeves 
of  the  gown  gave  scholastic  dignity  to  the  preacher's  graceful 
gestures. 

The  sermon  was  capital.  Mr.  Soapstone  had  talents  of  no  or- 
dinary kind,  and  on  this  occasion,  knowing  that  there  would  be  a 
great  gathering  of  "  Dissenters,"  he  laid  himself  out.  His  subject 
was  the  Divine  Institution  of  the  Festival  System,  and  the  point 
he  made  was,  that  in  instituting  the  Festivals  of  the  Old  Law,  the 
Divine  Prudence  had  instituted  the  system,  and  sanctioned  the 
principle,  which  the  Church  had  carried  out  in  new  Feasts,  the 
Memorials  of  new  Mercies.  Substituting,  perhaps,  cause  for  effect, 
he  was  inclined  to  connect  the  preservation  of  orthodoxy  with  the 
use  of  Festivals,  and  concluded  by  charging  upon  the  Puritan  re- 
jection of  the  Festival  system,  the  rise  of  that  baleful  heresy  of 
Unitarianism,  which  so  much  infected  the  Congregationalist 
Churches  of  New  England.  Some  of  our  student  friends  warm- 
ly discussed  the  sermon  as  they  moved  on  with  the  outpouring 
crowd. 

"  Abominable  to  abuse  us  in  that  way,"  said  Winthrop,  "  after 


ALBAN. 


143 


Ave  had  helped  to  dress  the  church  for  him.  I'll  be  hanged  if 
ever  I  do  it  again." 

"  As  if  there  had  never  been  any  Socinians  in  the  Episcopal 
Church,"  exclaimed  a  charity  student.  "Why,  the  fact  is  just 
the  reverse." 

"  Yes,  but  it  arose  undoubtedly  from  neglecting  to  dress  their 
churches  properly  with  Christmas  greens,"  observed  St.  Clair. 

"  It  wants  something  deeper  than  this  mechanism  to  keep 
alive  faith,"  said  Albaii. 

"  You  are  right  there,  Mr.  Atherton.  It  wants  grace,  sir," 
cried  O'Connor.  "  Carroll  and  I  are  going  to  sing  carols  to-night. 
As  your  sentiments  are  satisfactory,  will  you  join  us  ?" 

Here  our  friends  had  to  cross  a  street,  and  were  stopped  in  a 
heap  by  a  sleigh  with  ladies  in  it,  from  the  church  door,  dashing 
by  in  the  dark  with  loud  jingling  bells.    A  lady  waved  her  hand. 

"  It  is  the  Everetts  and  Miss  De  Groot,"  said  Wiuthrop.  "  I 
wonder  how  thcij  liked' the  slap  about  the  Unitarian  heresy." 

The  Everetts  and  Miss  De  Groot  were  much  displeased.  Miss 
Everett  wondered  (as  if  she  had  never  wondered  before)  at  the 
illiberality  of  the  orthodox.  She  thought  that  after  Mary  had 
helped  to  dress  the  church,  and  had  made  the  very  cross  for  Mr. 
,  Soapstone's  "  altar,"  when  none  of  his  own  flock  would  do  it,  it 
w^as  downright  insulting.  Miss  De  Groot  was  not  so  warm  as 
was  her  wont  when  any  thing  occurred  to  rouse  her  high  spirit, 
although  she  could  not  suppress  (perhaps  she  did  not  try)  a  slight 
bitterness  in  commending  Mr.  Soapstone  for  his  candor  and  con- 
sistency. If  he  really  believed  our  Saviour  to  be  God,  he  must 
treat  them  as  heretics.  She  went  on  to  confess  that  the  service 
was  so  beautiful,  the  lessons,  the  collects,  the  chanting  and  all, 
were  so  impressive,  so  devotional,  (Mary  was  seldom  so  wordy,) 
that  several  times  before  the  sermon  began  she  had  wished  herself 
an  Episcopalian.  But  hearing  such  uncharitable  opinions  ex- 
pressed had  completely  repelled  her.  Mr.  Everett  observed  with 
emphasis  that  it  was  language  which  would  be  appropriate  in  the 
mouth  of  a  Cathohc  !    He  could  find  nothing  to  say  more  cutting  ! 


144 


AL  B AN. 


"  I  wonder,"  said  Mary  De  Groot,  "  w^hy  we  do  not  adopt  some 
of  the  Episcopal  forms.  What  right  have  they  to  monopolize 
every  thing  beautiful  ?" 

"At  the  Stone  church  in  Boston  they  do  use  a  liturgy,"  re- 
marked Miss  Everett,  "  and  they  dress  the  church  for  Christmas, 
which  is  rather  against  Mr.  Soapstone's  theory." 

"  They  are  much  attached  to  it,"  said  her  brother.  "  I  won- 
der, as  Mary  says,  that  it  has  never  spread." 

"  Js  it  true,  as  Mr.  Soapstone  mentioned,  that  there  is  a  Uni- 
tarian New  Testament  with  the  story  of  our  Saviour's  birth  put 
between  brackets — ?" 

"As  of  doubtful  authenticity.  Well,  I  have  seen  such  a  book, 
Mary,  but  it  is  a  calumny  to  say  that  it  is  in  use.  It  was  first 
edited  by  an  English  archbishop,  too,  I  have  heard,  and  Coleridge, 
who  is  a  great  Church-of-England  man,  and  a  stanch  Trinitarian, 
rejects  the  account  of  the  miraculous  birth  of  Jesus  with  con- 
tempt." 

"  But  that  is  shocking,"  said  Mary.  "  One  might  as  well  give 
up  the  whole  Bible  at  once." 

"One  can't  well  enlarge  upon  it  to  you,  Miss  Mary,  but  it  is  a 
hard  doctrine  to  believe." 

"  Fie,  James,"  said  Miss  Everett.    "  How  can  you  ?" 

The  sleigh  jingled  on  amid  a  silence  of  the  party  in  it,  and 
dashed  into  the  avenue  to  Mr.  Everett's  house.  But  as  it  began 
to  ascend  the  heavy  carriage  sweep,  Miss  De  Groot  suddenly  burst 
forth  in  her  warmest  manner,  as  if  giving  way  to  a  feeling  which 
she  had  pent  up  from  girlish  delicacy. 

"  I  as  firmly  believe,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  with 
passion,  "  that  the  mother  of  our  Saviour  was  always  a  spotless 
virgin,  as  that  I  am  at  this  moment,  and  I  declare  it  makes 
my  heart  swell  with  indignation  that  any  Christian  should  dare 
to  question  it." 

She  would  hardly  take  Mr.  Everett's  hand  Avhen  he  offered  to 
help  her  out  of  the  sleigh,  she  was  so  angry.  Perhaps  to  make 
his  peace,  Mr.  Everett  went  to  his  library,  and  presently  returning 


AL  B AN . 


145 


with  a  thin  quarto,  hound  in  red  morocco,  handed  it  to  his  quick- 
tempered young  guest  with  a  penitent  smile. 

"  That  is  the  '  Chapel  Liturgy,'  as  they  call  it,  Mary." 

Mary  took  it  eagerly,  and  hegan  turning  it  over. 

"  Why,  it  is  a  kind  of  abridgment  of  the  Episcopal  Prayer- 
book." 

"  The  addresses  to  the  Trinity,  and  all  prayers  to  Christ  or  to 
the  Holy  Ghost,  are  left  out  or  altered,  you  will  find." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mary,  "  I  have  heard  papa  say,  that  the  Prayer- 
book  is  the  Mass  protestantized,  and  I  suppose  that  the  '  Chapel 
Liturgy'  is  the  Prayer-book  socinianized."  She  smiled,  looking 
at  Mr.  Everett,  as  if  they  had  always  been  the  best  of  friends,  and 
she  had  not  been  so  angry  with  him  the  moment  before  as  to  re- 
solve never  to  speak  to  him  again  except  with  mere  civihty. 
"  Thank  you,  Mr.  James.  I  must  take  it  to  my  own  room,  if  you 
please,  and  look  it  over." 

13 


146 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  white  dimity  curtains  of  bed  and  window  in  the  young 
guest's  room  had  a  cold  but  virginal  air,  like  the  white  Marseilles 
quilt,  in  spite  of  the  thick  blankets  it  covered.  She  herself  looked 
the  same  in, her  clean  (Thursday)  night-gear,  the  dark  hair  low 
and  smooth  on  her  pure  brow,  and  holding  out  one  of  her  rosy  feet 
to  the  fire,  working  its  little  toes,  like  an  infant's,  in  the  warmth. 
The  toes  were  pretty  enough  to  have  rings  on  them,  or  bells,  like 
the  aged  heroine's  in  the  nursery  rhyme, 

"  With  rings  on  her  fingers  and  bells  on  her  toes," 

but  Mary  De  Groot  had  none  even  on  the  former,  i.  e.,  no  rings. 
Her  virgin  hands  were  absolved  from  all  ornament  save  their  own 
beauty,  not  only  when  undressed,  as  now,  but  at  all  times. 

After  playing  thus  awhile  as  a  child  might,  without  aim,  and 
so  serenely  that  she  might  seem  either  an  angel  or  quite  soulless, 
she  suddenly  turned  round  from  the  fire  to  her  chair,  assumed  her 
little  maidenly  wrapper,  thrust  the  fairy  feet  into  their  dear  little 
slippers,  and  seated  herself  at  a  little  table  or  stand,  whereon 
were  placed  her  candle  and  the  "  Chapel  Liturgy,"  Having  read 
the  preface  intently,  bending  down  upon  it  in  a  very  school-girl 
fashion,  like  as  if  she  had  been  conning  a  lesson,  she  looked  up 
and  said  aloud, 

"  My  Unitarian  friends  excuse  the  alterations  that  they  have 
made  in  adapting  the  Episcopal  Prayer-book  to  their  own  use,  on 
the  same  ground  which  the  Episcopalians  allege  to  justify  the 
changes  in  their  own  service,  from  the  old  English  Book  of  Com- 
mon Prayer  ;  and  both  cite  the  latter  itself" — Looks  at  the  book 
and  reads — "  '  Every  partAcular  Church  has  a  right  to  ordain, 
change,  and  abolish  ceremonies  or  rites  of  the  Church,  ordained 
only  by  man's  authority,  so  that  all  be  done  to  edifying' — 


ALB  AN. 


147 


What  more  reasonable  I  I  declare,  I  should  like  to  see  what 
changes  the  American  Episcopalians  have  made  from  the  English 
Prayer-book.  That  should  be  very  instructive  to  a  little  girl 
like  me." 

To  think  and  do  were  the  same  thing  with  Miss  Mary  De 
Groot.  She  rose  quickly,  drew  the  silken  cords  of  her  wrapper 
tighter  round  her  waist,  tripped  with  her  candle  to  the  chamber- 
door,  and  peeped  out  into  the  corridor.  Mr.  Everett's  boots  lay 
outside  his  door. — "  After  all,  he  is  only  an  old  bachelor  I"  said 
the  girl  of  sixteen,  and  fluttered  down  stairs.  She  is  in  the 
library  with  her  candle. 

"  Now,  how  in  the  name  of  goodness  am  I  to  find  it  ?  Who 
knows  if  Mr.  Everett  has  got  one  ?  Ah,  here  is  the  theology — 
sermons — Channing,  Clarke,  Newcome,  Tillotson, — ah,  here  it  is  ! 
But  my  I  it  is  a  thick  quarto — big  enough  for  a  church  I  Oh, 
here  is  another  that  is  smaller — never  been  used,  I  guess.  Oh, 
Mr.  James,  you  are  not  very  devout  I  And  the  American  Prayer- 
book  close  by  it,  not  near  so  well  bound.  I  must  have  them  both, 
Mr.  James." 

She  returned  exultingly  with  her  prizes.  The  beautifully 
bound  "  Common  Prayer,"  when  unclasped,  lay  open  of  itself  on  th©. 
broad  quarto  page  of  the  Chapel  Liturgy  ;  the  rigid  American 
Prayer-book  she  held  in  one  hand.  She  must  spring  up  again  to 
fetch  from  a  drawer  a  well-worn  volume  of  the  pocket-size — the 
Manual  of  devotions  which  had  belonged  to  her  Catholic  mother. 
It  was  in  French,  and  contained  among  other  things  the  ordinary 
of  the  Mass,  with  a  translation  in  parallel  columns.  So  the  young 
girl  began  to  collate  and  compare  with  a  grave  and  singular  pa- 
tience, having  the  old  Roman  Mass — the  venerable  Liturgy  of  St. 
Peter,  and  much  of  the  daily  Office,  at  one  extreme,  and  the  So- 
cinian  Chapel  Liturgy  at  the  other,  as  the  final  result  of  Protest-' 
ant  improvements.  In  a  very  short  time,  perplexed  by  having 
so  much  before  her  at  once,  she  devoted  herself  to  those  changes 
made  by  the  American  Episcopalians,  in  regard  to  which  her  curi- 
osity had  been  primarily  excited. 


148 


ALB AN . 


"  What  singular  alterations  are  these  I"  she  exclaimed  aloud, 
in  her  way.  "  What  could  have  possessed  the  people  to  make 
them  !  How  vulgar,  how  unpoetical, — really — how  impure  they 
are  I — "  She  put  both  her  little  hands  before  her  blushing  face, 
as  if  her  delicacy  had  been,  shocked. — "  Oh,  if  I  were  an  Episco- 
pahan  and  knew  that  these  things  had  been  changed  so,  I  should 
feel  so  ashamed  !" 

As  she  got  on  she  grew  more  excited  and  perplexed.  Here 
was  the  creed  of  St.  Athanasius,  which  the  Church  of  England 
ordered  to  be  read  on  all  the  great  Feasts,  cast  out  of  the  Ameri- 
can Prayer-book  altogether. — "  Is  it  because  it  takes  away  all  hope 
of  salvation  from  us  poor  Unitarians  ?  How  kind  in  the  Ameri- 
can Episcopal  Church  to  decline  pronouncing  so  severe  a  sen- 
tence I  Oh,  Mr.  Soapstone  I  you  ought  not  to  be  so  hard  upon  us 
since  your  Church  will  not  say  that  we  shall  be  condemned. 
Really  how  precise  this  Creed  is  on  that  point  1 — '  He  that  tvlll 
he  saved,  must  thus  think  of  the  Trinity.' — '  W/dch  faith 
except  every  one  do  keep  tvhole  and  undefled,  ivithout  doubt 
he  shall  perish  everlastingly.''  Well,  I  like  that,"  said  Mary, 
characteristically.  "  We  know  what  we  have  to  expect.  If, 
after  such  a  warning  we  persist  in  being  heretics,  we  shall  have 
nobody  to  blame  but  ourselves  when  we  are  sent  to  a  bad 
place." 

Mary  De  Groot  actually  cried  over  these  plain  and  stern  denun- 
ciations of  the  Church  Catholic.  They  were  tears  of  pride,  but 
mingled  with  humility.  She  did  not  like  to  venture  her  salvation 
on  the  chance  of  Unitarianism  being  true  ;  for  if  it  were  false,  it 
was  clear  that  she,  Mary  De  Groot,  dying  a  Unitarian,  would  be 
damned — dreadful  word — more  dreadful  thought  I  Was  it  for 
that  awful  end  that  she  had  been  brought  into  existence  ? 

The  omission  of  the  Athanasian  creed  by  the  American 
Episcopal  Church  enabled  even  so  inexperienced  a  mind  as  Mary 
De  Groot's  to  see  in  its  true  light  the  next  thing  that  naturally  met 
her  as  she  pursued  her  comparison  through  the  morning  and  even- 
ing prayer,  and  that  was  the  rejection  of  the  Evangelical  Hymns. 


ALB AN. 


149 


She  would  not  have  expressed  her  perception  in  those  words,  but 
she  saw  well  enough  that  it  indicated  the  ritual  degeneracy  which 
as  certainly  follows  the  loss  of  faith  as  bodily  decay  follows  enfeebled 
vitality.  The  Church's  joy  iti  her  Divine  Saviour — her  niystical 
but  real  joy,  ever  fresh  and  new — was  lost  when  the  Song  of 
Zachary  was  cut  down  into  a  Jewish  psahn  by  leaving  out  its 
personal  peculiarities,  when  the  Hymn  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  exul- 
ting over  the  Incarnation,  was  cast  aside  as  fools  throw  away  a 
precious  gem,  and  aged  Simeon's  canticle,  uttered  with  the  Holy 
Ghost  in  his  heart  and  the  Lord  in  his  arms,  was  dropped  out  of 
Even  Song  as  inappropriate  for  the  modern  Christian's  Nunc 
dimitth. 

The  intelligent  and,  in  her  way,  highly  cultured,  though  preju- 
diced, young  girl  had  begun  her  investigation  with  the  notion  that 
ritual  was  uncoirtiected  with  doctrine  in  any  vital  way.  She  had 
fancied  that  whatever  was  beautiful  in  the  Episcopal  worship 
might  be  easily  accommodated  to  the  wants  of  her  own  Church. 
A  faint  eesthetic  idea  had  floated  through  her  mind,  ol"  a  Unitarian 
chapel  in  New  York,  either  for  the  Chapel  Liturgy,  or  soniething 
yet  nearer  to  the  Episcopalian  rite  which  had  so  interested  her  that 
evening.  Now  a  new  light  altogether  had  broken  upon  her.  She 
saw  that  the  old  worship  of  the  Church,  from  which  by  mutilation 
and  corruption  these  Episcopal  forms  had  been  derived,  was  built 
upon  the  faith  that  Christ  was  God. 

"  If  that  faith  be  true,  what  an  insult  to  Him  is  this  Chapel 
Liturgy,"  she  thought. 

But  what  was  the  "  true  Church"  doing  at  the  moment  when 
this  insult  was  offered  ? — and  in  the  same  land  ? — Casting  out  the 
Athanasian  creed,  mutilating  Benedictus,  throwing  away  Magni- 
ficat, ignorant  why  sJlc  ought  to  rejoice  nightly  at  the  "  Light  to 
lighten  the  Gentiles,  and  the  glory  of  thy  people  Israel,"  thinking 
it  bootless  for  her  to  sing  any  more  "  For  mine  eyes  have  seen  thy 
salvation." 

Thus  Mary  thought,  without  framing  her  thought  any  more 
into  words.    Her  head  was  confused  and  her  heart  perturbed. 

13^ 


150 


A-L  B  A  N  . 


Although  it  was  already  midnight,  she  was  about  to  take  up  her 
Catholic  mother's  manual  of  devotion,  when  a  strain  of  sweet,  ani- 
mated, soul-cheering  music  suddenly  broke  the  silence  of  the  hour. 
She  remembered  that  it  was  Christmas,  and,  putting  out  her  hght, 
went  to  the  window,  opened  the  shutters,  and  looked  out  upon  the 
snowy  lawn  where  the  carollers  stood. 

There  was  a  violin  with  manly  voices.  She  opened  the  win- 
dow a  little,  and  to  her  ear  came  words  which  sung  of  the  Babe  of 
Bethlehem  as  the  Mighty  God.  It  had  been  the  faith  of  ages 
that  Heaven  and  Earth  were  espoused  on  this  sacred  night, — that 
God  had  appeared  at  this  time  in  the  nature  of  man  to  be  the 
Saviour  of  men.  Mary  made  haste  and  knelt  with  her  face  to  the 
starry  sky  where  angels  carolled  eighteen  centuries  before. 

"  0  God,"  she  exclaimed,  "  of  the  substance  of  Thy  Father, 
begotten  before  the  worlds  I  Man,  of  the  substance  of  thy  Mother, 
born  in  the  world  I  I  believe  in  Thee — I  adore  Thee.  Teach  me 
Thy  will.    Lead  me  in  Thy  way." 


ALBAN. 


151 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Christmas  Day  came,  and  the  weather  had  changed  again. 
Snow  fell  in  great  soft  flakes,  thick  and  fast,  piling  the  streets 
with  huge  drifts.  There  was  good  cheer  within,  not  so  general  as 
on  the  national  festival  of  Thanksgiving,  but  still  to  be  found  in 
houses  where  no  other  notice  was  taken  of  the  commemoration  of 
the  Saviour's  birth.  Some  families,  indeed,  took  a  pride  in  not 
deviating  a  hair's  breadth  from  their  every-day  life,  but,  on  the 
whole,  the  time  was  gone  by  when  the  Puritans  (although  that  was 
not  in  New  England)  appointed  the  Nativity  of  the  Lord  a  public 
fast.  The  shops,  however,  were  not  generally  closed,  nor  were  any 
places  of  worship  open  for  divine  service,  except  the  beautiful 
Episcopal  churches  and  one  small  chapel  in  the  poorest  part  of  the 
town,  plain  as  a  Methodist  meeting-house,  and  which  might  have 
been  mistaken  for  one  but  for  a  wooden  cross  that  crowned  its 
gable. 

Mary  De  Groot  was  puzzled  what  to  do  that  day.  She  longed 
to  repair  to  church  to  honor  her  new-found  Saviour,  new-born  that 
day  in  the  Church's  affectionate  forgetfulness  of  time,  and  new 
found  by  herself,  a  prize  of  her  heart,  a  treasure  of  her  faith,  secret 
but  dear,  as  to  Her  who  first  knew  that  wonder  of  wonders. 
Should  not  she  repair  to  Bethlehem  and  worship  at  the  manger  ? 
But  whither? — Vere  tu  es  Deus  absconditus,  Deus  Salvator — 
words  found,  with  a  translation,  annexed  to  the  act  of  Faith  in  her 
mother's  manual- — was  a  sentence  that  ever  trembled  on  her  lips. 

If  she  had  been  in  Boston  (inconsistent  as  it  may  appear)  she 
would  have  gone  to  King's  chapel  to  worship  her  "  hidden  God," 
even  in  the  forms  of  the  "  Chapel  Liturgy  ;"  or  if  there  had  been 
a  Congregationalist  meeting-house  in  New  Haven  open  that  day  for 
worship,  she  would  have  attended  it ;  or  in  New  York,  she  would 
have  hastened,  not  unjoyfully,  to  the  old  South  Dutch  church,  where 


152 


ALB AN. 


the  old  De  Groot  pew  was  still  retained,  though  seldom  visited  by 
the  family  ;  but  she  was  in  New  Haven,  and  her  friends  took  it 
quietly  for  granted  that  she  would  not  wish  to  attend  either  of  the 
Episcopal  churches  after  the  evening's  experience.  This  taking- 
for-granted  was  a  mighty  obstacle  in  the  young  girl's  path,  harder 
to  overcome  than  the  snow  which  blocked  up  the  avenue.  She 
could  not  propose  walking,  and  on  what  pretence  ask  for  the 
sleigh  ? 

"  They  will  think  I  want  to  see  or  be  seen  by  some  of  the  stu- 
dents who  will  be  there.  Mary  EllsAvorth,  I  know,  will  say  so  if 
I  come  out  in  all  this  storm,  not  being  an  Episcopalian.  I  have 
no  right  to  go  anywhere.  And  I  won't  expose  myself  to  such  an 
imputation  from  those  girls." 

Tap,  tap,  tap,  went  the  little  fingers  on  the  frosty  pane  of  the 
breakfast- room  window.  The  garden  paths,  the  paths  of  the  leaf- 
less wood  beyond,  were  choked  with  snow.  The  frozen  linen  on 
the  clothes-lines  swung  stiffly  in  the  wind.  Mr.  Everett  came  to 
the  window,  shrugged  his  shoulders  hopelessly  at  the  dreary  scene, 
remarked  that  it  was  going  to  prove  a  stormy  Christmas,  and  that 
he  was  glad  they  were  not  going  to  dine  out.  Then  he  looked 
down  at  his  slippers,  worked  by  Mary  and  purchased  by  him  at  the 
fair  at  an  extravagant  price,  and  said  he  should  adjourn  to  the 
library,  where  perhaps  his  guest  would  by  and  by  make  him  a  visit 
in  search  of  an  old  novel  for  this  gloomy  day.  So  he  took  himself 
off.  Calm,  cold,  handsome,  heavy  man  of  five  and  forty  was  Mr. 
Everett. 

Miss  Everett  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  with  one  foot  on  the 
grate-fender,  and  one  hand  protecting  her  knee  from  the  fire.  She 
was  glad,  too,  that  they  were  not  going  out,  and  she  meant  to  spend 
the  morning  in  answering  letters.  She  looked  up  at  her  blooming 
guest  who  had  glided  to  her  side,  and  wondered  for  the  five  hun- 
dredth time  that  Mary  never  put  her  hair  in  papers,  it  would  look 
so  beautifully,  curled  in  her  neck,  and  she  liked  to  see  it  in  girls  of 
her  age.  The  "  Middle  church"  clock  began  to  strike  nine.  The 
College  clock  told  the  solar  time,  and  then,  instead  of  the  vocifer- 


ALB AN . 


153 


ous  College  bell  for  study  hours,  commenced  a  deep,  deliberate, 
church-going  peal  from  the  gothic  tower  of  Trinity — the  first 
Episcopal  bell.  The  young  girl's  heart  began  to  beat,  and  she 
was  trying  to  frame  a  petition  that  she  might  be  sent  to  church 
after  all,  since  it  was  Christmas,  when  sleigh-bells  jingled  suddenly 
in  the  background,  and,  glancing  out  of  the  window,  she  saw 
David  and  the  horses  dashing  off  with  a  wood-sled,  and  she  knew 
that  he  had  been  sent  to  draw  a  load  of  pine.  She  suppressed  her 
petition,  and  departed  with  an  excuse  to  her  own  room. 


154 


ALBAN . 


CHAPTER  XIII.  ^ 

"  Merry  Christmas,  Bridget." 

"  Thatik  you  kindly,  miss,  and  many  more  of  the  same  to  your- 
self," said  the  housemaid,  who  was  finishing  Miss  De  Groot's  room. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  presents,  Bridget  ?  Well,  you  must  come 
into  the  drawing-room  by  and  by,  and  I  will  show  them  to  you, — 
the  most  beautiful  English  holiday  books  from  papa,  a  set  of  corals 
complete  from  mamma,  a  gold  pencil  from  Mr.  Everett,  and  from 
Miss  Everett  an  elegant  copy  of  a  book  that  I  admire  very  much. 
Besides  it  all,  papa  has  sent  me  a  beautiful  Paris  box  of  bonbons, 
that  is,  sugar-plums,  with  a  picture  of  the  Holy  Family  on  the  lid, 
which  I  know  you  will  admire  very  much.  They  are  all  arranged 
on  a  table  to  show  Mr.  Everett's  company  at  dinner  to-day  ;  but 
you  must  go  in  and  see  them,  Bridget." 

"  That  I  will,  miss  ;  but  you  can't  be  more  plased  with  your 
fine  presents,  miss,  than  I  and  Sally  Ann  was  with  the  beautiful 
collars  you  give  us.  I  haven't  thanked  you  for  it  before,  Miss 
Mary,  and  sure  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  thinking  of  me 
at  all." 

"  You  don't  go  to  church  to-day,  I  suppose,  Bridget  ?" 
"  Indeed  I've  been  to  five-o'clock  mass,  miss." 
"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  had  church  at  five  o'clock  this 
morning  ?" 

"  Surely,  miss.  The  first  mass — that's  the  midnight  mass  in 
Ireland — was  at  five  o'clock.  In  this  country  I've  niver  known 
a  mass  properly  at  midnight." 

"  And  when  is  the  second  mass  ?"  inquired  the  young  lady 
with  interest. 

"  The  second  mass  was  directly  after  the  first,  miss." 

*'  They  are  both  over  then  I"  with  disappointment. 

"  There's  the  third  mass  at  half-past  ten,  miss." 


AL  B  AN. 


155 


"  You  have  mass  again  at  half-past  ten,  Bridget  ?"  said  Miss 
De  Groot,  with  animation. 

"  With  music,  miss,  and  Father  Smith  will  praach.  Being 
the  only  Catholic  in  the  house,  none  of  the  servants  wants  to  go 
to  church  to-day  but  myself.  And  Father  Smith  doesn't  come 
very  often,  miss.  It  is  a  month,  come  Sunday,  since  we  had  a 
mass  before." 

"  Is  that  why  you  have  three  masses  to-day,  Bridget  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  bless  you,  miss.  'Tis  on  account  of  Christmas, 
Every  priest  says  three  masses  on  Christmas  Day,  because  Christ 
was  first  begotten  of  His  Father  from  all  eternity,  and  secondly 
born  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  to-day,  and  thirdly  every  day  in  the 
hearts  of  believers."  Bridget  said  this  in  such  a  tone  as  made  it 
easy  to  see  she  was  repeating  something  often  heard.  There  was 
a  little  innocent  pride,  too,  in  understanding  her  religion,  which 
made  the  young  lady  smile. 

"  I  want  to  go  to  this  third  mass  with  you,  Bridget,"  said 
Miss  De  Groot,  "  but  you  must  not  say  any  thing  to  any  body  of 
my  intention.  I  know  that  the  walking  is  very  bad,  but  I  shan't 
mind  that  in  going  to  you?'  church," 

In  her  sober  walking  apparel  of  dark-green  merino  and  tartan 
shawl,  and  with  her  hood  drawn  close  over  her  face,  she  may 
pass  for  a  young  servant  girl.  By  Bridget's  advice  she  has  drawn 
on  a  pair  of  coarse  w^oollen  socks  over  her  boots,  for  in  the  drifts 
the  snow  is  knee-deep.  Here  she  toils  till  her  breast  is  filled 
with  sharp  pain  at  every  rough  breath  she  draws.  Even  in  the 
streets  of  New  Haven,  the  deep-lying  snow  is  not  shovelled  off 
the  sidewalks,  and  they  go,  although  more  easily,  yet  with  fatigue, 
in  the  middle  of  the  street.  By  and  by  they  strike  into  a  well- 
tramped  path.  People  are  following  it  in  single  file.  On  the 
steps  of  the  plain  church  with  a  cross  upon  its  gable,  the  females 
shake  the  snow  from  their  garments,  and  stamp  it  from  their  feet. 

The  interior  of  the  chapel  (it  scarcely  merited  to  be  called  a 
church)  was  rude.  Instead  of  pews  were  rows  of  benches  w'ith 
backs.    The  men  were  on  one  side  and  the  women  on  the  other, 


156 


ALBAN. 


and  both  sexes  spread  their  handkerchiefs  on  the  floor  (at  least 
many  did)  to  save  their  clothes  in  kneeling.  The  altar  was  of 
plain  unpainted  deal,  and  yet  it  was  rather  solemn  from  its  eleva- 
tion and  furniture.  The  chalice  was  upon  it,  under  a  veil  of  white 
silk  very  richly  embroidered  in  gold  and  colors.  There  were  no 
lights  except  a  taper  that  burned  in  a  common  glass  tumbler. 

Mary  De  Groot  has  knelt  down  by  Bridget,  has  crossed  herself 
in  imitation  of  the  latter,  and  because,  in  fact,  she  is  used  to  do 
so  ill  her  private  prayers,  and  has  opened  her  Journee  du  Chretien 
to  find  a  fitting  devotion.  In  her  life  before  she  has  never  offered 
one  like  that  which  first  meets  her  eye,  being  the  first  morning 
act  in  the  manual.  The  young  convert  from  Unitarianism  uses 
it  with  a  beating  heart. 

"  Mo-;t  Violy  and  most  august  Trinity,  one  only  God  in  Three  persons,  I 
believe  that  Thou  art  here  present.  I  adore  Thee  with  feehngs  of  profound 
humihty,  and  render  Thee,  Avith  my  whole  heart,  the  homage  due  to  Thy 
sovereign  mnjesty." 

The  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  was  one  that  she  had  not  yet 
thought  of  To  her  it  had  always  seemed  to  be  a  doctrine  of  three 
Gods.  But  she  remembered  that  stern  Athanasian  creed — "-He 
that  will  he  saved  must  thus  think  of  the  Trinity^ 

**  I  submit,"  she  cried,  internally,  and  bending  herself  adored 
the  Triune  God. 

The  act  seemed  to  liberate  her  soul,  and  give  it  a  freedom  be- 
fore uiikno\A'n.  With  a  generous  courage,  offspring  of  divine 
faith,  she  foUovved  the  rest  of  the  prayers  in  her  book, at  once  with 
her  heart  and  her  lips. 

"  My  God,  I  most  humbly  thank  Thee  for  all  the  favors  Thou  hast  be- 
stowed upon  me  liitherto.  It  is  owing  to  Thy  goodness  that  I  see  this  day ; 
I  will  theref  >re  employ  it  in  serving  Thee.  I  consecrate  to  Thee  its  thoughts, 
words,  actions,  and  sutferin<?s.  Bless  them,  Lord,  that  there  may  not  be  one 
which  is  not  animated  by  Thy  love,  or  tends  not  to  Tliy  glory. 

"  Adorable  Jesus !  divine  model  of  the  perfection  to  which  we  should 
a=pi'-e,  I  ^vill  apply  myself  as  much  as  I  can  to  mnke  myself  like  Thee : 
meek,  hamble,  chaste,  zealous,  patient,  charitable,  and  resigned  like  Thee. 


AL  B AN . 


157 


I  will  use  eveiy  effort  not  to  fall  to-day  into  the  faults  I  so  often  commit,  but 
■which  I  sincerely  desire  to  correct. 

"Mv  God,  Thou  knowest  my  weakness.  I  can  do  nothing  without  Thy 
grace.  Refuse  it  me  not.  Give  me  strength  to  shun  every  ill  Thou  forbid- 
dest,  to  do  all  the  good  Thou  requirest,  and  to  suffer  patiently  whatever 
affiictions  it  shall  please  Thee  to  send  me." 

"If  an  angel,"  thought  Mary,  "had  descended  to  teach  me 
prayers  for  this  morning,  what  else  could  he  have  said  ?" 

These  prayers  were  in  French,  but  next  came  some  in  Latin, 
and  not  knowing  where  to  find  the  translation,  she  skipped  until 
she  came  to  the  Litany  of  Jesus,  where  the  two  languages  ran 
side  by  side.  She  had  just  finished  reciting  it  with  a  great  deal 
of  fervor,  for  it  was  just  what  she  wanted,  and  the  Agnus  Dei, 
w'hich  so  many  say  coldly,  moved  he?'  to  tears,  for  the  first  time 
supplicating  Christ  as  the  Lamb  of  God,  when  the  great  candles 
w^ere  lit. 

"  Do  the  Catholics  have  little  clergymen  ?"  thought  Mary, 
with  an  innocent  smile,  but  pleased,  when  six  young  boys  in 
cassocks  and  w^hite  cottas  entered  with  the  priest. 

The  lace  of  the  latter's  albe,  and  the  embroidery  of  his  vest- 
ment also  caught  her  female  eye,  and  made  her  throw  a  glance 
around  the  church.  She  had  been  so  absorbed  that  she  had  not 
observed  it  filling.  Every  part  of  the  floor  was  occupied  by  men 
or  women,  all  kneeling,  all  of  the  humblest  class  of  society.  Their 
demeanor  was  the  most  devoat  she  had  ever  witnessed.  And 
now  the  music  attracted  her  attention.  Slie  could  not  help  look- 
ing back  at  the  organ  gallery,  and  saw  that  it  was  full  of  foreign 
music-teachers  of  both  sexes,  connected  with  the  schools  of  jSTew 
Haven.  As  she  did  not  understand  what  was  going  on  at  the 
altar,  her  eye  sufHoed  to  attend  to  it,  and  her  whole  mental  atten- 
tion was  absorbed  by  that  wonderful  Kyrie.  She  perceived  that 
the  words  were  the  same  with  which  the  litany  she  had  just  said, 
he^au,  Kyrie  eleison,  Chri  te  eleiwn,  Kyrie  eleison !  without 
end.  At  length  it  was  done  ;  the  congregation  rose  ;  the  chasu- 
bled  priest  suyg  something  in  a  suigular  tone  ;  the  choir  recom- 

14 


158 


ALB  AN. 


menced,  and  in  a  minute  all  sat  down  as  if  to  hear  it  through. 
Bridget  saw  that  Miss  Mary  was  bewildered,  and  showed  her  that 
it  was  the  Gloria  in  excelsis. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  thought,  "that  is  the  song  of  the  angels  at  the 
Saviour's  birth.  That  is  what  I  came  here  to  sing,  at  least  in  my 
heart.    They  are  singing  it  in  the  mass." 

Turning  over  the  index  of  her  little  prayer-book,  Mary  had 
found  the  3Iesse  de  No'd  ;  and  when  the  priest  intoned  the  collect, 
epistle,  and  gospel,  she  was  able  to  follow,  while  her  familiarity 
with  the  Scriptures  enabled  her  to  understand  it  all  very  fairly, 
although  the  words  were  in  a  dead  language.  But  in  the  gospel 
certain  words  were  printed  in  Italics,  Et  Verbum  caro  factum  est^ 
and  when  the  priest,  solemnly  chanting,  arrived  at  that  point,  he 
and  the  surphced  boys  and  the  entire  congregation  bent  the  knee  ; 
in  a  moment  after,  he  took  off  his  vestment,  turned  round  to  the 
people,  still  standing,  and  having  received  another  book  from  one 
of  his  youthful  assistants,  said, 

"The  gospel  which  has  just  been  sung  at  mass  is  taken  from 
the  first  chapter  of  the  gospel  of  St.  John." 

He  read  it  in  English,  down  to  the  words  A7id  the  Word  was 
made  Flesh,  &c.,  and  added,  as  he  returned  the  book  to  the  min- 
ister, "You  know,  my  brethren,  that  it  was  at  these  words  we  all 
knelt  just  now  when  they  were  sung  at  mass." 

"  Ah  I"  thought  Mary,  "  they  beheve  in  the  Incarnation  in. 
this  Church  !" 


ALBAN. 


159 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Mary  was  charmed  and  grateful  when  Father  Smith  took  these 
words  for  the  text  of  the  discourse  which  he  now  dehvered 
from  the  steps  of  the  altar.  It  was  the  very  theme  which  she 
desired  to  hear  more  fully  treated — the  dogma  in  which  she  newly 
believed — the  Incarnation  of  the  Eternal  Word.  Father  Smith's 
manner  was  fervent;  he  gesticulated  a  good  deal;  his  accent  was 
foreign  ;  but  his  thoughts  were  fresh,  and  his  method  singularly 
perspicuous.    The  congregation  hung  upon  his  lips. 

"In  these  words,"  said  the  popish  priest, — "The  AYord  was 
MADE  Flesh, — is  contained  the  Hoot  and  principle  of  all  that  the 
Catholic  Church  believes  and  teaches;  and  yet  this  Root  itself 
springs  from  a  deeper  ground,  if  I  may  say  so,  and  is  planted  ia 
the  doctrine  of  the  Divine  Nature." 

This  exordium  interested  Mary  deeply,  and  still  more  so  when 
by  throwing  the  idea  into  several  shapes  successively,  the  preacher 
rendered  it  distinctly  intelligible  not  only  to  her,  but,  as  she  felt, 
to  his  entire  audience.  God,  he  explained  to  them,  was  one,  and 
no  unity  was  so  simple  or  so  perfect  as  His.  The  Divine  Substance 
was  one  simple  undivided,  indivisible  essence,  one  simple  indivisi- 
ble Spirit,  Which  yet  existed  in  Three  Persons  really  distinct, 
without  ceasing  to  be  the  Same  in  each ;  a  truth  which  we  could 
not  know  except  by  particular  revelation,  but  which  when  re- 
vealed contradicted  neither  consciousness  nor  experience,  for  both 
these  were  silent  before  it.  The  text  declared  that  One  of  these 
Divine  Persons  became  Flesh,  The  means  by  which  this  sublime 
union  of  Godhead  and  Manhood  was  accomplished  v/as  a  creative 
act  of  the  Three  Divine  Persons,  whereby  the  Word  and  Son  of 
God,  according  to  the  Will  of  His  Father,  and  with  the  co-opera- 
tion of  the  Holy  Ghost,  assumed  into  Himself  the  whole  and  per- 
fect human  nature,  and  became  the  Son  of  Man  ;  so  that  Jesus 


160 


AL  B  AN . 


Christ,  the  First-born  of  creation,  the  Anointed  in  respect  to  the 
Holy  Ghost  Who  dwelt  in  Him,  was  in  Himself  the  Everlasting 
Son  of  the  Eternal  Father,  His  Wisdom  and  His  Word,  by  Whom 
He  created  all  things,  and  Whose  every  earthly  w^ord  and  action 
was  a  Fiat  of  Almighty  God. 

From  this  statement  of  the  pure  revealed  doctrine  of  the  God- 
head and  Incarnation,  the  preacher  proceeded  to  unfold  its  doc- 
trinal and  practical  consequences.  A  divine  fact  like  that,  he 
observed,  could  not  stand  alone  in  a  bari-en  solitude  ;  it  was  fruit- 
ful as  the  Divine  nature  itself  Neither  could  it  be  believed  alone 
in  its  naked  simpHcity  ;  it  was  but  the  seed  of  a  joyful  and  abound- 
ing faith.  Because  the  Word  was  made  Flesh,  we  saw  a  visible 
Church,  we  heard  an  audible  teaching,  confessed  a  human  priest- 
hood, sacraments  with  a  sensible  form  and  matter,  saints  working 
sensible  miracles,  vocal  prayers,  bodily  penances.  It  was  neces- 
sary to  salvation  not  only  that  the  heart  be  purified  by  faith,  but 
that  the  body  be  washed  with  water.  The  Word  made  Flesh  had 
ordained  these  things  and  filled  them  with  virtue  ;  and  the  Church 
knew  their  value,  because,  believing  Him  to  be  God,  she  under- 
stood all  His  w^ords  in  their  divinest,  mightiest,  most  enduring 
sense.  The  Church  never  attached  a  common,  weak,  human 
meaning  to  any  saying  or  any  action  of  the  Word  made  Flesh. 
W^hen  Incarnate  Wisdom  bade  her  teach  all  Tiations,''  she  knew 
that  she  became  His  organ  and  therefore  infallible  ;  when  the 
Mediator  between  God  and  Man  declared  "  Whose  sins  you  shall 
forgive  they  are  forgiven''  she  knew  that  Penance  became  a 
Sacrament  ;  when  the  Creator  pronounced  '■'This  is  My  Body,'' 
that  Transubstanliation  became  a  truth  ;  when  the  Pontiff  after 
the  order  of  Melchisedech,  added,  "  This  is  My  Blood  luhicli  shall 
be  shed  for  the  remission  of  sins,"  that  the  Mass  was  to  be  a 
sacrifice.  For  the  whole  doctrine  of  the  Church  had  distilled  from 
the  11  lis  of  Christ,  as  her  whole  life  was  breathed  into  Her  by  His 
grace. 

While  Father  Smith  was  saying  this,  Mary  De  Groot  was 
entirely  convinced  that  these  high  dogmas  of  the  Catholic  Church 


ALBAN . 


161 


did  indeed  flow  necessarily  from  the  Incarnation  of  God  ;  but  the 
objection  recurred  to  her  mind  that  that  Church  which  so  faith- 
fully accepted  the  consequences  of  the  Incarnation,  did  also  make  it 
null  by  setting  up  creature  mediators,  like  the  Virgin,  and  enthro- 
ning them  in  the  place  of  the  Saviour.  Father  Smith  suddenly 
approached  this  theme  in  winding  up  his  discourse. 

"  In  nothing,  my  dear  brethren,"  he  said,  "  is  the  faith  of  the 
Incarnation  more  manifest  than  in  what  the  Church  believes  con- 
cerning the  exaltation  of  the  Saints.  Christ  declares  that  they 
shall  reign  with  Him,  that  they  shall  sit  with  Him  on  His  throne. 
So  the  Church  understands  that  He  is  not  injured  by  their  glory 
— His  own  gift,  nor  disparaged  by  the  intercessory  mediation, 
which  is  but  their  promised  participation  of  His.  For  He  is  their 
God  and  Lord,  and  cannot  be  excluded  from  any  thing  that  they 
do.  She  knows,  therefore,  that  He  is  in  His  Saints,  is  glorified  in. 
them,  is  invoked,  intercedes,  obtains  graces,  works  wonders,  and 
in  a  word,  reigns  in  them  ;  so  that  while  they  really  share  His 
mediatorial  throne,  He,  notwithstanding,  wholly  fills  it,  God  and 
Man,  the  Saint  of  saints,  and  Crown  of  them  all." 

This  was  very  startling  to  our  young  friend,  but  she  saw  its 
truth.  Yet  what  followed  was  by  no  means  unnecessary  for  the 
complete  satisfaction  of  her  mind. 

"  Above  all,"  concluded  the  father,  in  a  softer  voice,  "it  is  on 
the  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation  that  depends  our  love  and  vener- 
ation for  that  Blessed  One  whose  womb  bore  the  Eternal,  whose 
paps  this  day  gave  Him  suck.  Mary  is  our  mother  because  she 
is  the  Mother  of  our  God.  On  the  throne  of  the  universe,  He  is 
constrained  by  the  truth  of  His  humanity  to  confess  Himself  her 
Son.  And  as  it  was  through  her  individual  faith,  as  the  Scrip- 
ture testifies,  that  we  received  the  Person  of  the  Word  into  the 
bosom  of  our  nature,  so  it  is  in  her  exaltation  that  our  nature 
gains  the  highest  glory  which  the  Word  made  Flesh  diffuses  in 
His  members  without  losing  in  Himself  How  vainly  do  men  ad- 
mit a  truth  under  one  form  of  expression  while  they  betray  their 
unbelief  by  denying  it  in  another  ?  When  the  Eternal  was  found 

14* 


162 


ALBAN . 


as  an  infant  of  days,  do  they  still  wonder  that  a  woman  is  ac- 
knowledged as  the  Mother  of  God  ?  If  the  Son  of  Mary  were 
an  exalted  creature,  our  love  for  her  might  do  Him  an  injury, 
but  since  He  is  the  Creator  of  Mary,  the  Author  of  her  merits, 
and  their  Infinite  reward,  all  our  homage  to  her  but  magnifies 
Him  the  more.  The  Catholic  Church  knows  very  well  that 
Mary  is  a  simple  creature,  and  that  she  has  nothing  which  she 
has  not  received.  She  is  but  the  ark  of  the  covenant,  the  gate  of 
heaven,  the  golden  mansion  of  our  God  and  King.  As  such  we 
revere  her,  but  her  Son  is  our  God  and  King  himself,  and  Him 
we  adore. 

"  See  then,  my  brethren,  how  simple  in  its  principle  is  that 
holy  fuith,  every  article  of  which  is  guaranteed  to  you  by  the 
Divine  veracity.  Adhere  to  it  with  unshaken  confidence,  because 
God  has  revealed  it.  Believe  on  the  Word  made  Flesh  under 
every  one  of  these  lowly  manifestations  in  which  it  has  pleased 
Him  to  hide  His  majesty,  that  you  may  become  the  sons  of  God, 
according  to  the  promise  that  has  been  read  to  you  in  the  gospel : 
— a  blessing  which  I  wish  you  all,  In  the  name  of  the  Father, 

and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost." 

The  priest  turned  to  the  altar,  threw  the  rolled  up  back  of 
the  chasuble  over  his  head,  replaced  the  maniple  on  his  left  arm, 
and  the  people  rose. 

€xth  in  mum  Bbuih/' 


ALBAN. 


163 


CHAPTER  XV. 

**  It  is  my  new  faith,"  said  the  young  girl,  "  which  I  came  here 
to  confess.  The  priest  has  said  it  at  the  altar  ;  they  are  singing  it 
in  the  choir.  I  follow  it  in  my  heart.  When  the  priest  came  to 
the  words  which  confess  the  Incarnation,  he  and  all  the  people 
with  him  knelt.  Shall  we  do  so  again,  I  wonder,  when  the  choir 
arrive  at  that  part  ?  See,  it  comes,  and  the  music  pauses.  Yes, 
the  priest  rises  with  the  white-and-scarlet- vested  boys  ;  they  go  to 
the  front  of  the  altar  and  kneel,  and  we  kneel  also.  Et  Incar- 
NATUs  EST.  This  is  awful.  Et  Homo  factus  est.  We  rise  again. 
Wonderful  Church  I  Which  believes  the  mystery  and  so  compre- 
hends all  truth.  Did  not  I  read  in  the  Protestant  Episcopal 
Prayer-book  that  the  Nicene  creed  need  never  be  said  by  them, 
but  at  the  option  of  the  minister  ?  Counterfeit  Church,  I  know 
you  by  this  hesitation  !  Wolf  in  sheep's  clothing  and  false  pro- 
phet I  well  may  the  anathema  expire  on  your  trembling  lips." 

Mary  found  no  difficulty  now  in  following  in  a  general  way 
the  course  of  the  glorious  sacrifice.  It  would  merely  have  dis- 
tracted her  could  she  have  traced  more  minutely  an  action  at 
once  so  full  and  so  rapid,  in  which  every  word  has  a  value,  every 
gesture  a  sense,  whose  boundless  scope  takes  in  three  worlds,  and 
darts  from  Abel's  offering  to  that  of  the  present  moment.  She 
knew  that  there  was  an  oblation,  for  she  saw  the  lifted  chalice. 
She  saw  the  priest  purify  his  hands,  and  prayed  instinctively  that 
her  soul  might  be  purified  by  grace,  and  her  body  washed  with 
pure  water,  that  she  might  be  worthy  to  adore  so  awful  a  mystery. 
Sursum  corda  "  lifted  her  heart"  to  the  Lord,  and  the  sweet  tones 
of  the  Preface  of  the  Nativity  : — but  lo  I  He  comes  in  the  name 
of  the  Lord,  God  and  Lord  like  Him  by  Whom  He  is  sent ! 
She  saw  the  lights  and  incense,  (ofiering  of  humble  zeal  to  grace 
this  much-loved  day,)  and  she  hasted  to  bow  her  head^  while  the 


164 


ALBAN . 


choir  was  hushed,  and  the  bell  alone  broke  the  deep  stillness  by 
its  quick  and  awful  warning. 

The  last  thing  at  mass  is,  that  after  the  benediction  the  priest 
reads  a  second  gospel ; — as  a  general  rule,  the  beginning  of  the 
gospel  of  St.  John,  in  the  reading  of  which,  as  has  been  already- 
noted,  all  kneel  at  the  concluding  sentence  (And  the  Word  was 
made  Flesh)  in  honor  of  the  Incarnation.  But  as  the  reader  will 
already  have  observed,  this  gospel  is  the  proper  gospel  for  the 
third  mass  on  Christmas  Day,  and  so  another  is  read  at  the  end, 
taken  from  St.  Matthew,  and  containing  the  visit  of  the  Magi  to 
the  infant  Redeemer.  One  of  the  females  near  our  young  convert, 
perceiving  that  she  was  a  stranger  to  the  worship,  offered  her 
here  an  English  missal,  with  the  place  found,  and  pointed  her  to 
this  gospel.  Though  exhausted  and  languid  after  so  many  emo- 
tions, Mary  gratefully  read  it,  understanding  of  course  that  it  was 
the  same  which  the  priest  was  reading  at  the  altar. 

"  Faithful  Church  I"  she  again  cried  to  herself,  as  she  per- 
ceived whither  this  second  gospel  tended,  "  she  never  loses  sight 
of  Him  whom  her  soul  loveth  I  Her  last  glance  is  the  same  as 
her  first.  She  was  about  to  depart,  but  she  turns  to  Him  yet 
again,  her  Divine  Spouse  I" 

For  at  the  words  "  a?id  falling  doivn  they  adored  Him''  all 
again  genuflected,  and  Mary  saw  that  it  was  so  enjoined  in  the 
book. 


ALBAN. 


165 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Fathep^  Smith  had  been  up  all  night  hearing  confessions  :  the 
little  church  having  been  crowded  with  penitents  from  fsix  in  the 
evening  till  the  early  mass.  He  had  sung  mass  twice,  and  said 
one  low  mass  between,  giving  communion  to  nearly  four  hundred. 
In  the  interval,  he  had  administered  Extreme  Unction  and  the 
Viaticum  to  a  dying  woman,  (Death  waits  not  for  festivals,)  and 
ahhough  it  was  past  midday,  except  in  purifjdng  the  Chalice  in 
the  last  mass,  he  had  of  course  not  broken  his  fast  since  midnight, 
by  so  much  as  a  drop  of  cold  water.  His  human  nature  had  a' 
right  to  be  exhausted.  But  he  has  yet  to  make  his  thanksgiving 
for  that  Bread  which  whoso  eats  shall  hve  for  ever.  He  kneels 
in  his  long  black  soutane  at  a  desk  in  one  corner  of  the  sacristy, 
M'ith  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands.  His  close-cut  hair  is  thickly 
sown  wdth  premature  gray,  and  a  bare  spot  at  the  crown  is  not 
the  tonsure,  which  in  the  mission  is  not  worn,  but  the  commence- 
ment of  baldness.  Two  of  his  young  assistants  are  noiselessly  en- 
gaged in  putting  away  the  sacred  vestments.  There  is  a  knock  at 
the  door  which  communicates  with  the  church.  One  of  the  boys 
opens  it.  A  young  lady — a  young  girl,  one  would  say — is  there. 
She  desires  to  speak  to  Father  Smith.  The  boy  motions  her  to 
come  in,  and  points  her  to  a  chair.  She  takes  it,  and  gazes 
around  timidly.  The  priest  kneels  on  in  his  corner.  In  the  other 
is  a  low  screen,  with  a  sort  of  grating  in  it,  a  kneeling-board  in 
front,  and  a  chair  behind.  There  is  perfect  silence.  Her  heart 
sinks  within  her.  She  looks  up  for  help.  Her  eye  falls  on  a  large 
crucifix  fixed  to  the  opposite  wall,  over  a  table.  "  He  died  for 
me,"  she  thinks,  "  died  on  a  cross  I  Nothing  shall  prevent  me 
from  confessing  His  name  !" 

At  last,  Father  Smith  rose.  He  saw  the  young  girl,  and  ap- 
proached her  with  a  look  of  inquiry.    Mary  rose,  but  she  was 


166 


ALBAN. 


voiceless.  She  could  not  utter  a  word  ;  she  knew  not  even  what 
she  wanted  to  say,  and  so  she  just  looked  down.  The  father 
glanced  at  her  dark,  plain  hood  and  blanket-shawl,  and  -the  knit 
"socks  drawn  over  her  shoes. 

"  You  want  to  go  to  confession  ?  Yery  well  :" — pointing  to 
the  confessional.  The  boys  left  the  vestry,  and  Father  Smith 
was  going  to  put  on  his  stole. 

"  No,  sir,  I  do  not  want  to  confess,"  said  Mary,  in  a  choking 
voice,  and  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

"  What  then  do  you  want,  ray  dear  child  !"  rejoined  the  priest, 
with  some  surprise,  and  some  quickness.  "  My  time  is  precious, 
but  if  I  can  be  of  any  assistance-to  you,  speak.  If  you  have  any 
thing  on  your  mind,  you  had  better  go  to  confession  at  once." 

"  I  wish  to  be  baptized,  sir,"  said  Mary. 

"  Ah  I"  The  priest  observed  her  more  narrowly.  She  had 
broken  the  ice,  and  now  looked  up  courageously.  "  You  are  a 
Protestant  ?"  asked  he,  gently. 

"  Not  now,"  said  Mary. 

"  Sit  down.  How  long  is  it  since  you  came  to  this  resolu- 
tion ?" 

"  This  morning,  sir." 

"Ah,  at  mass,  I  suppose.  God  is  very  good.  But  your 
friends — they  know  nothing  about  it.    Are  your  parents  living  ?" 

"  My  father  is  living.    My  mother  was  a  Catholic,  sir." 

"  God  is  venj  good  I"  said  the  father,  with  an  upward  glance. 
"  But  have  you  never  been  baptized  at  all  ?" 

"  Never." 

"  Is  your  father  in  humble  circumstances  ?  Has  he  any  re- 
ligious behef  ?    Do  you  live  in  New  Haven  ?" 

"  We  live  in  New  York,  sir.  My  father  is  a  Unitarian.  He 
is  not  poor,"  said  Mary. 

"  I  think  that  you  must  be  careful  not  to  act  precipitately. 
You  must  consult  your  father,  and  you  will  yourself  need  to  be  in- 
structed, probably,  in  our  holy  faith.  If  God  has  really  touched 
your  heart  with  His  grace,  a  short  trial  will  only  make  your 


AL  B  AN . 


167 


faith  more  firm  and  pure.  What  Cathohc  books  have  you 
read?" 

Mary  handed  him  the  httle  "  Journee  du  Chretien."  He 
glanced  at  it.  "Is  this  all?"  he  asked,  with  a  smile.  "Well, 
it  is  enoug-h.  God's  grace  can  employ  the  feeblest  instruments. 
But  you  will  certainly  need  instruction.  And  I  don't  know  who 
will  instruct  you.  Where  are  you  staying  ?  At  Mr.  Everett's. 
Oh,  I  understand.  Is  there  a  Cathohc  servant  in  the  family  ? 
Ask  her  to  lend  you  her  catechism.  You  need  no  better  prayer- 
book  than  this  for  the  present.  It  will  be  a  month  before  I  shall 
be  here  again,  for  I  have  other  stations  to  serve." 

"  A  month.  Father  Smith  I    Oh,  I  cannot  wait  a  month." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  can.  It  will  soon  pass.  If  your  faith  continue 
firm,  and  your  desire  of  baptism  is  sincere,  your  soul  will  be  in  no 
danger  from  the  delay.  You  must  write  to  your  father  ;  and, 
meanwhile  I  would  say  as  little  as  possible  to  others.  Do  not 
commit  yourself  It  is  not  necessary.  Pray  a  great  deal,  and 
particularly  make  the  act  of  faith  every  night  and  morning  with 
fervor  and  attention.  Now  go,  my  dear  child.  God  has  been 
very  merciful  to  you.  You  can  never  love  Him  enough  in 
return." 

Mary  De  Groot  dropped  on  one  knee.  Father  Smith  blessed 
her,  and  bid  her  be  of  good  cheer.  She  went  out  joyfully  ; 
Bridget  had  waited  and  wondered  in  the  church. 

The  good  people  of  New  Haven,  and  the  student  community 
of  Yale  College,  passed  their  Christmas  morning  in  a  very  different 
way.  The  Episcopal  churches  had  been  crowded  on  the  eve,  but 
the  morning  congregations,  partly  on  account  of  the  weather,  were 
thin.  The  students  lamented  that  the  holiday  was  thrown  away 
on  a  storm.  Smoking,  card-playing  with  locked  doors,  and  kin- 
dred amusements,  filled  up  the  time  of  many.  Reading  novels, 
lounging  in  each  others'  rooms,  and  all  sorts  of  corrupt  conversa- 
tion, occupied  others.  The  ambitious  "studied,"  as  the  American 
phrase  is,  i.  e.,  read  hard.  The  Professors  and  Tutors  had  a  day 
for  their  private  use,  unbroken  by  lecture  or  recitation.  The 


168 


ALBAN. 


Professor  of  Chemistry  shut  himself  up  in  his  laboratory;  the  Pro- 
fessor of  Natural  Philosophy  pursued  his  experiments  on  the 
construction  of  stoves  ;  the  Rev.  President  corrected  his  last 
mathematical  text-book,  and  the  Divinity  Professor  recreated  him- 
self with  a  novel.  Among  the  five  hundred  and  more  members 
of  the  University,  there  were  probably  not  above  five  and  twenty 
who  went  to  church  on  Christmas  morning,  in  the  year  1834. 

Among  the  five  and  twenty  was  our  friend  Alban.  He  had 
indeed  two  invitations,  one  from  Mr.  Soapstone,  to  hear  his  sermon  ; 
one  from  Miss  Ellsworth,  to  sit  in  her  father's  pew  ;  and  the  latter 
he  accepted.  It  was  in  Trinity.  There  was  something  exceed- 
ingly comfortable  and  old-country-like  in  the  whole  thing,  that 
pleased  Alban,  and  reminded  him  of  Washington  Irving's  beauti- 
ful descriptions  of  English  Christmas.  There  was  no  new-fangled 
"  Catholicism"  in  the  arrangements  at  Trinity,  no  Puseyite  inno- 
vation, as  people  would  now  say  :  no  candles,  no  crosses,  no  shams 
of  any  sort.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  church,  dressed  for  the  cheer- 
ful festival  in  an  old-fashioned  way.  A  young  deacon  read  the 
prayers  in  a  very  graceful  manner,  and  the  excellent  rector 
preached  an  old-fashioned  sermon,  in  which  he  clearly  proved  to 
his  hearers  from  the  Scriptures,  the  Divinity  of  Him  whom  he 
called  the  great  Founder  of  their  religion.  His  text  was  the  same 
as  Father  Smith's,  which  was  not  a  surprising  coincidence,  since 
the  same  gospel  was  read  in  the  Communion.  The  English 
reformers  in  arranging  their  new  service,  took  for  Christmas  Day 
the  old  gospel  for  the  third  mass  in  Nativitate  Domini.  In  the 
well-cushioned  pew  of  the  Ellsworths,  with  Mary  Ellsworth's 
shot-silk  dress  rustling  by  his  side,  occasionally,  her  delicate,  gloved 
hand  pointing  out  the  place,  our  hero  was  very  well  oS.  There 
was  literally  nothing  to  disturb  his  enjoyment.  There  were  no  low 
people  near  at  all  events,  to  pollute  the  air  with  their  breath,  and 
with  the  peculiar  odor  that  emanates  from  the  unchanged  gar- 
ments of  the  poor.  The  sweet  breath  of  Mary  Ellsworth,  with  a 
fine  fragrance  of  cologne  from  her  clothes,  was  all  that  mingled 
with  the  fresh  smell  of  the  spruce,  cedar,  and  balsamic  pine  that 


ALB AN . 


169 


drooped  in  deep  festoons  along  the  gallery.  The  Brussels  carpet 
under  his  feet  harbored  none  of  the  small  but  active  gentry  from 
whose  persecutions  poor  Mary  De  Groot  suffered  all  day. 

Alban  was  engaged  to  dine  with  the  Ellsworths,  and  when 
service  was  over  accepted  a  seat  in  their  sleigh.  It  was  still  by 
the  beautiful  daughter's  side.  They  were  going  directly  to  dinner, 
for  the  communion  had  made  it  late,  as  Mr.  Ellsworth  remarked. 

"  How  fatiguing  it  must  be  for  the  clergy  to  have  so  large  a 
communion,"  observed  Mrs.  Ellsworth  with  matronly  considera- 
tion. 

"  Particularly  if  they  were  fasting,  as  Mr.  Soapstone  says  they 
ought  to  be,"  said  Alban,  smiling. 

"  Mr.  Soapstone  is  a — most  preposterous  young  man,"  said  Mr. 
Ellsworth. 

"  Did  Mr.  Soapstone  fast  this  morning  ?"  asked  Mary  Ellsworth, 
answering  Alban' s  smile. 

"  Why  not  exactly.  But  he  explained  to  me  at  breakfast,  that 
in  the  present  anomalous  position  of  the  Church  the  rule  could  not 
be  strictly  followed  ;  and  he  really  did  not  think  he  could  get 
through  the  whole  service  alone  on  an  empty  stomach." 

"  I  wonder  he  should  think  of  it,"  said  kind  Mrs.  Ellsworth, 
while  her  husband  laughed  bitterly  and  Miss  Ellsworth  gayly. 
The  sleigh  swept  round  a  corner,  dashing  between  two  girls  who 
were  crossing  the  street,  and  in  a  moment  the  bells  ceased  jingling 
at  Mr.  Ellsworth's  gate. 

The  rector  and  the  deacon  were  among  the  Ellsworths' 
Christmas  guests.  Wine  flowed  ;  the  Church  was  lauded;  the 
denominations  received  many  mortal  thrusts.  Even  the  poor 
Papists  did  not  wholly  escape.  The  cross  and  candles  at  Mr. 
Soapstone's  chapel  were  canvassed  and  condemned.  After  dinner, 
roLuid  the  dining  room  fire,  the  gentlemen  filled  up  an  hour  and  a 
half  or  so,  with  smoking,  politics,  and  anecdotes  of  rather  dubious 
edification.  Tea  and  cofiee  and  the  ladies  succeeded,  and  the 
evening  of  games  and  music,  dancing,  laughter,  and  mulled  wine. 
Alban  was  Mary  Ellsworth's  partner  in  the  games  and  in  the 

15 


170 


ALB AN. 


cotillion,  and  his  hand  trembled  when  it  touched  hers  in  bidding 
her  good-night. 

The  Everetts'  dinner  company  was  naturally  of  a  different  cast, 

Professor  S  ,  P  ,  the  poet,  several  ladies  of  a  somewhat 

literary  and  scientific  turn,  and  a  young  Marylander  of  the  Senior 
class,  who  was  a  connection.  The  beautiful  maid  of  sixteen  was 
silent  at  dinner  as  a  rose  in  a  vase  ;  but  in  the  evening  she  sang 
like  a  Virginia  nightingale  in  an  aviary.  Young  Carroll  got  beside 
her  after  some  manoeuvring,  and  she  blushed  as  she  asked  him  if 
there  was  not  a  catlicdral  in  Baltimore. 

"  Of  course,  Miss  Mary,  since  it  is  the  see  of  an  archbishop. 
You  should  visit  Baltimore,  Miss  De  Groot.  You  would  form  a 
very  different  idea  of-  Cathohcs  from  what  you  get  in  the  North. 
The  best  families  in  Maryland  are  Catholics." 

"  Are  they  really  ?  The  faith  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  Cath- 
olics here,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  Certainly — oh,  certainly,  the  faith  is  the  same.  But  we 
fancy  that  we  are  a  little  more  refined  than  the  low  Irish  you  see 
here." 

"  Of  course  you  did  not  go-to  mass  this  morning  among  all  the 
low  Irish  ?"  said  Mary. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  you  are  very  severe.  Miss  De  Groot.  Of  course 
I  went  to  mass — at  five  o'clock.  Some  of  us  sang  Christmas  carols 
under  your  windows  at  midnight,  and  we  staid  up  for  mass,  I 
assure  you; — at  least  O'Connor  and  I  did." 

"  Bat  at  half-past  ten  ?"  persisted  Miss  De  Groot. 

"  Why  to  tell  the  truth,  at  half-past  ten  I  went  to  the  Episcopal 
churches,  first  to  one  and  then  to  the  other,  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
you.  Miss  Mary  ;  not  for  the  service,  I  assare  you.  But  I  suppose 
you  found  the  weather  too  unpleasant  to  go  out." 

"  A  pretty  way  of  spending  your  Christmas  morning,  Mr. 
Carroll  I  Is  that  your  Maryland  refinement  ?  Would  your  Catho- 
lic friends  in  Baltimore  approve  of  your  turning  your  back  on  High 
Mass  at  the  cathedral,  and  ranging  from  one  Protestant  church  to 
another  in  quest  of  an  heretical  young  lady?"    She  glowed  all 


ALB AN. 


171 


over,  brow,  cheek,  and  neck.  "  I  don't  take  it  as  a  compliment 
that  I  was  the  person  you  sought,  if  indeed  I  was.  I  was  at  the 
•  third  mass,  Mr.  Carroll,  and  I  can  tell  you  that  I  think  Protestants 
excusable  in  the  vile  things  they  say,  because  they  are  ignorant, 
and  know  no  better,  but  not  a  Catholic  who  knows  what  the 
mass  is  and  neglects  it." 

Young  Carroll,  who  was  really  a  good  fellov/  and  a  thorough 
gentleman,  had  great  difEculty  in  making  his  peace.  He  insisted 
strongly  on  his  having  satisfied  the  precept  of  the  Church  by 
hearing  one  mass,  that  he  was  not  obliged  to  hear  another,  and 
that  he  went  to  the  Protestant  service  (he  urged  that)  purely  to 
see  her.  He  had  not  taken,  nor  would  he  take  on  any  account 
the  least  part  in  their  worship,  so  much  as  in  thought.  Nay,  to 
feel  the  slightest  devotion  in  a  Protestant  church  would  be  a  moral 
impossibility  for  him.  Mary  was  silent  while  he  related  the  his- 
tory of  several  attempts  to  convert  him  since  he  had  been  at  New 
Haven.  It  was  very  amusing,  for  out  of  pure  contempt,  the  easy 
Marylander  had  let  himself  be  argued  with,  and  plied  with  books 
to  almost  any  extent,  just  giving  encouragement  enough  to  draw 
on  the  zealous  proselyters  who  desired  to  save  him  from  the  scarlet 
lady. 

"  But  I  knew,"  said  the  young  planter,  with  gentle  animation, 
"  that  if  I  had  been  blown  into  ten  thousand  atoms,  the  faith 
would  have  been  found  entire  in  every  separate  fragment." 

"  That's  the  best  thing  you  have  said  yet,  Mr.  Carroll,"  said 
Mary. 

Professor  S  ,  with  the  instinct  that  shrewd  Protestants 

have  in  regard  to  the  danger  of  conversing  with  Catholics  about 
their  religion,  yet  influenced  by  that  uneasiness  which  leads  them 
always  to  attack  it,  interposed  and  asked  Carroll  some  questions 
in  a  cahn  tone  of  superiority. 

"  What  is  the  reason,  Mr.  Carroll,  since  the  Pope  possesses  the 
whole  treasure  of  indulgences,  that  he  does  not  apply  it  at  once 
to  let  all  the  souls  out  of  purgatory  ?  Why  does  he  demand  to  be 
paid  for  each  one  separately?" 


172 


ALB AN . 


"  Because  he  possesses  no  such  power,"  rephed  Carroll,  with 
the  greatest  pood  humor. 

"  What,  the  Pope  cannot  let  as  many  souls  out  of  purgatory  as 
he  pleases  ?" 

"  Decidedly  not,  or  it  would  he  very  cruel  in  him  not  to  do 
it.  You  don't  seem  to  know,  Professor,  what  the  doctrine  of  the 
Church  is  on  the  subject  of  indulgences." 

"  Pray  enlighten  my  Protestant  ignorance,  Mr.  Carroll." 

"  An  indulgence  as  applied  to  the  souls  in  purgatory,  sir,  is 
only  an  application  of  the  merits  of  Christ  and  the  saints  in  their 
behalf  in  the  way  of  a  prayer  to  God.  The  Church  has  no  juris- 
diction over  the  dead,  sir,  and  the  Pope  can  no  more  release  a 
soul  out  of  purgatory  by  any  direct  act  of  authority  than  you  or  I 
can." 

"  That  I  believe,"  said  the  Professor,  sarcastically.  "  You 
only  think,  then,  that  the  Pope  can  pray  people  out  of  purgatory, 
not  that  he  can  open  the  door  with  his  big  keys  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Carroll,  "  we  believe  that  there  is  a  purga- 
tory, and  that  the  prayers  of  the  living  are  useful  to  those  who 
are  detained  there  :  both  very  consoling  truths  to  poor  sinners  like 
me,  though  not  to  saints  like  you.  Professor,  Avho  will  of  course  go 
straight  to  heaven  when  you  shake  off  this  mortal  coil." 

Mary  De  Groot  laughed,  and  whispered  to  Carroll  that  she 
was  glad  he  had  the  courage  to  defend  his  religion  so  manfully. 

"  I  cannot  want  that,"  replied  the  young  Marylander,  coloring 
and  smiling,  "  while  I  am  true  to  the  grace  of  confirmation.  I  am 
sorry  to  say  that  I  don't  practise  my  religion  so  well  as  I  might, 
but  I  should  have  courage  to  die  for  it,  if  necessary." 

After  the  mulled  wine  had  been  duly  honored,  Miss  De  Groot 
returned  young  Carroll's  good-night  with  abrupt  cordiality.  She 
drew  back  coyly  indeed  from  the  hand  which  he  extended  with 
Southern  frankness,  and  made  him  a  deep  curtsey  instead  of  taking 
it,  but  she  gave  him  one  look  in  saying  hon  wir,  that  was  winged 
with  girlish  admiration,  due  partly  to  his  great  personal  advan- 
tages, partly  to  his  manliness  and  spirit. 


ALBAN. 


173 


"  We  must  not  have  Charles  Carroll  here  too  often,  Mary,  or 
he  will  convert  you  to  Popery,"  said  Miss  Everett,  laughing,  when 
the  guests  were  gone. 

"  Not  he,"  replied  the  young  girl  with  a  blush  at  her  own 
evasion.  But  bold  as  she  was,  she  dared  not  confess  herself  a 
convert  to  the  Church  of  Rome. 


174 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

In  addition  to  the  profound  religious  questions  which  now  interested 
him,  and  the  novel  excitement  of  mature  female  society,  our  hero 
was  at  this  time  almost  overwhelmed  with  the  perplexity  and 
trials  of  authorship.  He  had  imagined  that  to  write  his  tragedy 
was  all  he  had  to  do  ;  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  far  more  diffi- 
cult business  of  getting  it  up.  Distributing  the  parts,  iuciiing  the 
industry  and  correcting  the  dull  misapprehensions  of  some  actors, 
repressing  the  vivacity  and  self-will  of  others,  superintending  the 
rehearsal,  all  were  new,  and  tiresome  enough.  He  became  heart- 
ily sick  of  his  own  work,  and  anticipated  nothing  less  than  a 
total  failure  on  the  night  of  performance.  He  never  thought  of 
the  time  as  drawing  inevitably  near  without  a  sickness  at  heart. 
The  only  hope  he  had,  was,  that  his  new  female  friends  would  be 
prevented  from  attending  the  Exhibition  to  witness  his  exposure. 
The  last  rehearsal,  in  the  presence  of  a  chosen  few,  somewhat 
encouraged  him.  His  friends,  indeed,  pointed  out  to  him  several 
faults  in  his  play — an  excess  of  plot,  over-refinement  in  the  sen- 
timents, and  occasionally  too  great  plainness  of  language — an  un- 
sophisticated, unveiled  expression  of  love,  which  they  thought 
required  to  be  softened  so  as  not  to  offend  the  delicacy  of  the  fair 
audience  before  whom  the  Exhibition  was  to  be  repeated.  Alban 
said  it  was  too  late  to  correct  these  faults,  but  he  had  no  doubt 
that  his  critics  were  entirely  in  the  right.  He  confessed  that  he 
was  very  inexperienced,  and  he  wished  a  thousand  times  that  he 
had  had  his  fingers  cut  off  before  he  attempted  to  write  that 
unlucky  tragedy.  He  proposed  that  the  Exhibition  should  not  be 
repeated,  and  was  but  slightly  consoled  when  his  principal  confi- 
dant assured  him  that  in  a  first  efibrt  much  would  be  forgiven. 

At  length  the  night  of  the  Exhibition  arrived.  Alban  presided 
in  his  chair  of  state  ;  the  Society's  room,  had  been  converted  into 


ALB AN , 


175 


a  simple  but  convenient  theatre.  Every  sitting  or  standing  was 
occupied.  The  crowd  was  suffocating.  The  tragedy  was  highly 
successful,  and  Alban  observed,  to  his  surprise,  that  the  points 
which  had  been  so  severely  criticised  by  his  friends  in  private, 
were  precisely  those  which  elicited  from  the  full  theatre  its  live- 
liest applause.  It  was  voted  a  brilliant  thing,  and  wonderfully 
more  spirited,  more  racy,  than  could  have  been  expected  from  so 
serious  a  fellow  as  Atherton.  His  own  friends  said  that  the  sur- 
prise occasioned  by  this  contrast  between  the  author's  well-known 
character  and  the  impassioned  dialogue  of  his  work,  was  the  secret 
of  the  success  which  it  obtained  before  the  student  assemblage. 
There  was  some  truth  in  the  remark,  for  nothing  else  was  so  much 
talked  of  as  this  novel  feature  in  a  performantje  of  Atherton' s. 
The  experimeiitum  crucis  remained,  however,  yet  to  be  made,  in 
the  presence  of  nearly  two  hundred  young  ladies. 

It  was  a  brilliant  coup  d'cEil,  the  theatre  on  the  second  night, 
at  the  rising  of  the  curtain  : — row  rising  on  row  of  lovely  faces  on 
a  background  mostly  of  white  muslin,  mingled  occasionally  with 
richer  fabrics,  but  all  festive,  while  a  framework  of  dark  manly 
costume,  varied  with  white  waistcoats,  inclosed  the  whole  on  the 
sides  and  rear.  The  President's  seat  of  dignity  commanded  a  view 
of  both  the  stage  and  the  audience.  In  front  of  his  chair  three 
seats  were  reserved  in  the  middle  of  a  settee  for  Miss  Ellsworth, 
Miss  Everett,  and  Miss  De  Groot.  The  first  arrived  early,  looking 
very  beautiful  in  her  low  cut  dress  and  finely-drooping  shoulders. 
Miss  Everett  and  her  youthful  guest  came  just  as  the  curtain  rose. 
For  various  reasons  they  were  sure  to  attract  attention,  which 
their  being  late  increased.  Miss  De  Groot's  color  rose  as  she  made 
her  way  with  some  difficulty  to  the  place  reserved  for  her.  She 
got  seated  at  last,  and  looked  towards  the  stage,  while  Miss  Ells- 
worth, whispering  "  How  late  you  are  1"  glanced  at  the  dress  of 
the  rival  belle.  An  oration  and  a  poem  were  to  be  delivered 
before  the  commencement  of  the  dramatic  performances,  and  the 
orator  was  already  in  the  full  tide  of  declamation. 

The  title  of  the  tragedy  on  the  printed  bill  of  the  exercises, 


176 


ALBAN. 


was  "  The  Fall  of  the  Inca  ;"  an  American  subject,  "but  admittincr 
the  richest  European  costume  of  a  romantic  age.  The  heroine 
was  the  Princess  of  Peru.  As  the  female  parts  were  necessarily 
performed  by  young  men,  this  idea  presented  great  means  of  effect. 
The  Princess  was  enacted  by  a  Louisianian,  a  handsome,  dark  boy 
of  sixteen,  and  a  Calliopean.  His  sex  was  a  positive  advantage, 
by  warranting  that  strictness  of  savage  costume  which  otherwise 
would  not  have  been  allowable.  Young  Badeau,  of  mixed  French 
and  Indian  ancestry,  wore  in  front  his  own  straight  black  hair, 
femininely  parted,  and  rendered  with  infinite  spirit  the  wild  pas- 
sion of  the  Inca's  daughter.  The  part  of  Pizarro  was  played  by  a 
young  man  of  dissipated  tendencies,  but  great  histrionic  talent, 
who  subsequently  went  on  the  stage.  The  lover  of  the  piece  was 
also  a  capital  actor,  now  an  eminent  evangelical  clergyman  in  the 
Episcopal  Church.  The  play,  therefore,  was  well  cast.  But  we 
must  not  forget  the  Inca  himself  A  pious  classmate  of  Alban's, 
whom  no  one  would  have  suspected  of  such  a  talent,  and  at  whose 
name  most  smiled  when  it  was  announced,  a  candidate  for  the 
Congregational  ministry,  in  fact,  and  a  man  past  thirty,  personated 
the  Indian  Sovereign — the  Child  of  the  Sun — with  admirable  suc- 
cess. Alban's  heart  went  beating  triple  time  during  the  whole 
representation.  The  last  two  acts  were  of  thrilling  interest ;  the 
incidents  exciting.  They  passed  rapidly  amid  breathless  attention, 
and  received,  at  the  close  of  the  scenes,  the  meed  of  soft  plaudits, 
not  unmingled  with  sighs  and  blushes.  The  death  of  the  Inca 
was  wonderfully  well  managed,  and  when  the  Princess  swooned 
on  the  body  of  her  lover,  one  of  the  young  ladies,  who  had  never 
seen  a  play  before,  fainted,  and  had  to  be  carried  out.  This  real 
incident  added  to  the  eclat,  and  the  curtain  fell  amid  enthusiastic 
applause.  Black  waiters  now  brought  in  ice-cream  and  other  re- 
freshments for  the  ladies,  and  the  President,  quitting  his  chair  of 
state,  tremblingly  approached  his  fair  friends.  They  welcomed 
him  with  all  their  hands. 

It  does  not  boot  to  relate  all  the  flattering  things  they  said. 
Miss  Everett,  however,  fought  shy  of  a  topic  on  which  Miss  Ells- 


A  L  B  A  N 


177* 


Worth  rallied  him,  namely,  the  impassioned  love-scenes.  Whence 
had  he  drawn  his  knowledge  of  ladies'  hearts  and  ladies'  ways  ? 
His  Indian  princess  was  a  true  woman,  and  Miss  Ellsworth 
appealed  to  Miss  De  Groot.  Mary  had  risen  for  a  change  of 
position  and  was  regarding  Alban  as  if  in  a  revery.  She  started 
at  Miss  Ellsworth's  question,  made  her  repeat  it,  and  answered 
with  a  blush, 

"  1  thought  the  princess  a  little  too  forward, — but  then  I  never 
saw  a  play  before." 

"  That  was  meant  to  be  a  part  of  her  character  as  a  princess 
accustomed  to  boundless  submission  and  indulgence,"  observed 
Alban. 

"Oh,  it  seemed  to  me  all  very  real,  so  much  go  that  it  made 
me  quite — "  she  hesitated. — "Christian  deHcacy  does  not  grow 
wild  in  a  woman's  heart,  of  course,  Mr.  Alban.  I  think  that  you 
have  painted  what  we  are  by  nature  very  truly." 

Her  face  glowed,  a».d  it  was  impossible  not  to  be  struck  with 
its  cherubinical  intelligence  brought  out  by  the  novel  excitement. 
Mary  Ellsworth  abruptly  drew  attention  to  her  friend's  dress. 

"  You  have  departed  from  your  ordinary  simplicity  in  honor  of 
the  occasion,  Mary.     Mr.  Alban  ought  to  appreciate  the  compli- 
ment.   I  wonder  you  have  never  worn  that  lovely  pink  satin  belbre. ' 
You  should  make  her  always  dress  as  becomingly.  Miss  Everett." 

Miss  De  Groot  was  in  fact  arrayed  with  an  unusual  care.  Her 
hair  was  relieved  by  a  slender  gold  band,  over  which  its  dark 
thick  waves  seeme  struggling  to  rise.  She  laughed  girlishly  at 
her  dress  being  noticed,  and  said  something  awkwardly  about 
having  out-grown  all  her  dresses  since  she  came  to  New  Haven, 
and  then  the  beautiful  eyelids  drooped, 

"  What  a  child  she  is  after  all,"  thought  the  President  of  the 
Brothers'  Society,  and  turned  to  Miss  Ellsworth, 

The  comedy  produced  much  merriment.  The  principal  char- 
acter was  a  raw  New  England  farmer.  The  wit  was  not  very 
refined,  but  the  truthfulness  of  the  representation  in  respect  to  ac- 
cent and  dialect,  and  the  reckless  fun  of  the  preposterous  incidents 


178 


AL  B AN . 


rendered  it  irresistible.  Every  body  laughed,  Mary  De  Groot 
lauohcd  till  she  cried,  and  Miss  Everett  nearly  ruptured  a  blood- 
vessel in  the  vain  attempt  to  preserve  her  dignity.  Mary  De 
Groot's  uncontrollable  convulsion  sunk  her  again  in  the.  grave 
estimate  of  Mr.  Alban,  while  Miss  Ellsworth  proportionably  rose 
in  virtue  of  the  expressions  of  disgust  vidierewith  she  avenged  her- 
self for  an  occasional  surprise. 

The  performance  was  not  concluded  till  nearly  two  o'clock. 

Miss  Everett  and  Mary  waited  for  the  crush  to  be  over, 
and  Alban,  as  their  inviter,  kept  near  them, 

"Are  you  going  home  for  the  vacation,  Mr.  Alban  ?" 

He  had  thought  to  spend  it  at  New  Haven.  The  Sound  was 
not  pleasant  at  this  season  ;  there  was  sometimes  danger  I'rom  the 
accumulation  of  ice  ;  and  it  was  his  last  winter  vacation, 

"  But  I  should  think  it  would  do  you  good  to  get  away  from 
New  Haven  for  a  fortnight," 

Here  Miss  Ellsworth  elbowed  her  way  out  of  the  cloak-room 
and  approached,  all  muffled,  to  take  leave  of  the  President. 

"  We  shall  expect  to  see  you  every  day  in  the  vacation,  Mr. 
Atherton," 

Alban  thanked  her,  shook  hands,  and  bade  her  good-night 
with  a  gratified  and  admiring  air.  Following  with  his  eye  her 
receding  figure,  and  watching  her  gracefully  take  up  her  dress  to 
descend  the  carpetless  stairs,  he  forgot  Miss  De  Groot,  until  the 
latter  appeared  in  her  snowy  capuchin,  and  with  the  pink  satin 
carefully  gathered  up. 

"  And  I  must  say  '  good-by,'  I  suppose,  Mr.  Alban," 
How  so  ?" 

"  I  am  going  home  on  Monday — to  New  York." 

Accompanying  them  down  the  stair,  he  learned  that  this  was 
settled,  Miss  De  Groot  having  only  waited  for  the  Exhibition^ 
She  had  written  to  her  father  that  very  day  to  meet  her  at  the 
wharf  on  Monday  evening. 

"  The  idea  of  her  going  home  alone  on  that  frightful  Sound," 
said  Miss  Everett. 

12 


A  L  B  A  N 


179 


"  I  wish  you  were  going  down  for  the  vacation,  Mr.  Alban," 
said  Miss  De  Groot.  "  Why  can't  you  change  your  mind,  and  be 
my  escort  ?"  she  added,  in  a  sportive  girlish  manner. 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,"  answered  Alban,  gallantly. 
Will  you,  really  ?    Oh  I  you  are  only  in  jest,  Mr.  Alban. 
New  Haven  has  too  many  attractions  for  you  to  leave  it." 

"  It  loses  one  of  its  greatest  in  losing  Miss  De  Groot,  who  does 
not  think  me  capable,  I  hope,  of  accepting  such  an  invitation  in 
jest.  After  all,  my  mother  would  be  disappointed  not  to  see  me 
this  vacation." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Alban,  if  you  have  a  mother  who  expects  you,  I 
shall  do  a  good  turn  by  persuading  you  to  spend  your  vacation  in 
New  York.  You  can  get  permission  to  go  on  Monday,  I  sup- 
pose ?" 

"  The  vacation  does  not  begin  till  Wednesday,  but  there  will 
be  no  difficulty  about  that,"  said  Alban,  half  feehng  that  he 
might  get  off  on  this  score,  if  he  chose,  and  he  thought  of  spending 
the  evenings  at  Miss  Ellsworth's,  around  a  table  for  games,  with 
ail  the  too  agreeable  incidents  sure  to  follow  ;  nor  did  he  not  re- 
member the  morning  tete-a-tetes  which  he  might  hope  so  much 
more  frequently  to  enjoy.  But  Miss  Everett  took  up  his  offer,  and 
observed,  that  if  Mr.  Atherton  were  really  going  dowu  for  the 
vacation,  it  would  be  quite  a  relief  to  her  mind.  Atherton  prom- 
ised to  call  at  the  Grove  on  the  morrow  and  complete  the  arrange- 
ment ;  Miss  De  Groot  thereupon  expressed  her  satisfaction, 
without  any  disguise,  and  the  sleigh  glided  away  with  its  jingle 
and  slide. 

"  These  rich  and  proud  people  seem  really  to  make  use  of  one," 
thought  Alban.  "  It  is  rather  selfish  in  Miss  Mary  to  make  me 
quit  New  Haven  to  wait  upon  her  on  the  steamboat.  Still,  she 
is  a  young  lady,  whom,  for  what  I  have  seen  of  her,  I  sincerely 
respect." 


180 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

The  day  after  an  exhibition,  men  sleep  over  and  g-et  marked 
by  the  monitors  ;  but  Atherton,  having  a  favor  to  ask,  was  in 
his  place  at  the  head  of  the  Seniors,  (being  A.  A.,)  just  as  the 
chapel-bell  ceased  tolling,  and  Henry  Atherton,  who  was  Senior 
monitor,  and  never  failed  to  note  his  cousin  and  room-mate's  ab- 
sences with  rigid  impartiality,  smiled  gravely  as  he  rose  and  took 
out  his  chapel  book.  Our  hero  was  at  the  President's  lecture  and 
got  the  permission  he  required,  the  good  Doctor  observing  that 
Atherton  had  been  hard  worked  this  term  ;  but  indeed  Alban 
was  never  refused  any  thing.  It  was  the  only  thing  which  in- 
jured his  general  popularity,  that  he  was  such  a  favorite  with  the 
"dons."  He  made  his  arrangements  then  in  the  afternoon,  and 
in  the  evening  called  at  the  Grove  agreeably  to  his  promise. 

The  small,  lofty  drawing-room,  looked  cheerfully  manorial 
with  its  high  mahogany  doors,  crimson  satin  window  curtains 
drawn,  blazing  grate,  pictured  walls,  and  open  piano.  Alban 
had  seen  so  little  of  Miss  De  Groot  that  he  did  notice  she  had 
grown  since  he  first  saw  her  at  the  fair. 

She  declined  an  invitation  to  attend  the  College  Chapel  the 
next  day,  but  offered  to  take  a  walk  with  Mr.  Alban  in  the  after- 
noon, if  he  would  call  at  the  Grove.  She  strove,  it  was  evident, 
to  make  herself  agreeable  to  him.  She  went  to  the  piano  and 
played.  Mary  was  one  of  those  gifted  individuals  who  play  by 
ear  and  catch  a  piece  the  first  time  they  hear  it.  Doubtless  her 
refined  musical  organization  was  connected  with  that  quickness 
of  temper  which  we  have  noticed.  Her  voice  was  neither  con- 
tralto nor  soprano  ;  but  soft  in  the  lower  register,  bird-like  in  the 
higher.  As  she  sung,  her  well-formed  chest  played  freely  in  its 
easy  vesture.  It  was  curious,  though,  how  quietly  she  sat  on  the 
music-stool — like  a  child.    Miss  De  Groot  paid  so  much  respect 


AL  B AN , 


181 


to  the  vicinity  of  the  Sabbath  as  to  play  only  sacred  music.  She 
performed  admirably  the  Kyrie  which  she  had  heard  at  mass. 

Alban's  ear  was  pleased,  but  he  was  so  uncultivated  that  he 
knew  not  whether  what  he  had  heard  was  very  good  or  not ;  so 
he  was  silent. 

Mary  began  some  grave  and  solemn  unisons — a  sublime  Dorian 
chant.  She  added  words  as  before.  It  was  the  Preface  of  the 
Nativity. 

"What  kind  of  music  is  that?"  asked  Alban,  with  emotion, 
when  the  strain  abruptly  closed. 

"  You  feel  that,  do  you  ?  It  is  the  intonation  of  a  part  of  the 
mass,"  said  Mary,  in  a  low  voice.  "  And  this  is  more  of  it." 
She  toned  off  the  Pater  nosier,  with  one  hand,  singing  the  words. 

"  Mary  spends  her  Sunday  mornings  singing  mass,"  observed 
Miss  Everett. 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  Miss  De  Groot,  bending  over  the  piano. 

"  You  must  take  care  how  your  father  hears  you  amusing 
yourself  in  that  way,"  continued  Miss  Everett. 

"  Trust  me  for  that,"  replied  the  young  girl  quickly,  and  turn- 
ing merely  her  head  towards  the  speaker. 

"  Ever  since  Mr.  Carroll  dined  here  on  Christmas  Day,  Miss 
De  Groot  has  done  nothing  but  read  Catholic  prayer-books,  and 
shig  Catholic  hymns,"  said  Mr.  Everett,  with  a  smile  and  shrug. 

"I  won't  play  another  note  after  that,"  cried  the  young  lady, 
springing  from  the  piano  with  her  wonted  crimson  flush  when 
touched.  And  dropping  upon  a  low  seat  by  the  centre-table,  and 
resuming  some  hght  work,  she  added  with  a  spirited  toss  of  the 
beautiful  head,  "  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Alban,  that  Mr.  Carroll  has 
nothing  to  do  with  my  Catholic  reading  or  music, — at  least — "  she 
added, — "nothing  in  the  way  of  personal  influence." 

"  If  you  were  not  so  strict  about  truth,  I  should  say  that  was 
a  fib,"  thought  Alban  ;  but  he  merely  observed  that  Carroll  was  a 
favorite  with  the  ladies,  whereat  Miss  De  Groot  colored  still 
more,  and  he  inferred  that  whether  conscious  of  it  or  not,  she  was 
no  exception  ;  but  that  opinion  he  was  wise  enough  to  keep  to 

16 


182 


ALB AN . 


himself.  After  all  it  did  not  interest  him  greatly,  and  soon  after 
he  took  leave,  reminding  her  that  he  should  call  the  next  day  after 
evening  chapel. 

The  Sunday  afternoon  walk  was  pleasant.  While  the  path 
lay  through  the  wood,  as  it  did  at  first,  they  were  obliged  to  go  in 
Indian  file  ;  but  as  soon  as  they  gained  the  open  road,  they  walked 
abreast  in  the  double  furrow  worn  by  the  sleighs,  with  a  little 
mound  of  snow  running  between.  They  walked  fast.  Mary 
brushed  the  snow  with  her  short  dark  green  merino.  Sometimes 
they  had  to  turn  out  for  a  sleigh,  and  the  people,  as  they  flew  by, 
gave  them  looks  of  curiosity.  The  sun  cast  a  red,  setting  light  on 
the  woods,  precipitous  cliflTs,  and  snowy  back  slopes  of  East  Rock. 
Nearly  three  miles  out  they  approached  a  picturesque  half-frozen 
mill-stream. 

"  Beautiful  New  Haven  I"  exclaimed  Mary  De  Groot. 

"  And  yet  you  run  away  from  it,"  said  Alban;  "  very  unneces- 
sarily, as  I  gather  from  Miss  Everett." 

"  Are  you  sorry  to  feel  yourself  under  a  chivalrous  obligation 
of  being  my  escort  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Alban,  "  I  must  return  in  a  fortnight,  you  know, 
and  then  I  shall  not  find  you  here." 

"  But  you  will  find  Mary  Ellsworth.    You  have  not  been  such 
a  daily  visitor  at  the  Grove  as  to  miss  me  much." 

"  I  have  been  somewhat  neglectful  of  you.  Miss  Mary,  I  con- 
fess, but  you  know  how  busy  I  have  been  with  my  tragedy." 

"  Oh  I  I  don't  complain.  A  little  school-girl  like  me  (for  I 
have  had  masters  every  da}^  you  know)  has  no  pretensions  to  re- 
ceive visitors  like  Miss  Ellsworth.  It  would  have  interfered  with  ** 
my  lessons  too  much.  That  is  one  reason  why  I  had  to  excuse 
myself  from  seeing  Mr.  St.  Clair  so  often  as  he  called.  I  do  not 
like  a  great  many  gentlemen  friends  like  Miss  Ellsworth.  But 
apart  from  your  tragedy,  Mr.  Alban,  it  is  evident  that  if  you  call 
almost  every  evening  or  morning  on  one  young  lady,  you  cannot 
see  much  pf  any  other,  unless  you  give  up  your  whole  time  to 
visiting.    How  often  in  a  week  were  you  at  the  Ellsworths  ?" 


ALBAN. 


183 


Seldom  more  than  twice,  really,"  said  Alban,  blushing  a 
little  under  this  frank  catechising'. 

"  Ah  I  twice  too  often,"  exclaimed  Miss  De  Groot,  with  quick- 
ness. 

"  Well,  why  so,  Miss  Mary  ?"  said  Alban,  reddening  still  more. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Alban,  distinguished  as  you  are  in  your  class,  you 
can't  be  seriously  '  paying  attention,'  as  the  girls  say,  to  a  young 
lady  like  Miss  Ellsworth,  a  couple  of  years  older  than  yourself. 
And  you  can't  have  the  vanity  to  suppose  that  courted  as  she  is, 
she  is  going  to  think  seriously  of  you,  much  as  she  may  like  you 
and  admire  your  talents.  I  am  a  mere  chit ;  1  have  no  experience 
in  such  matters  ;  but  an  instinct  warns  me  that  you  are  betraynig 
your  own  dignity." 

Our  hero  looked  sheepish. 

"  Mary  tells,  and  laughs  at,  the  compliments  and  soft  things 
you  say  to  her,"  pursued  Miss  De  Groot,  with  girlish  mahce.  "  I 
myself  believe  that  if  the  truth  was  known,  she  gives  you  in  pri- 
vate plenty  of  encouragement.  Now  that  is  treating  you  shame- 
fully, /would  never  do  so.  If  it  were  me  you  admired,  I  should 
keep  it  to  myself,  and  if  I  showed  the  least  sign  of  particular  re- 
gard for  you  the?t,  it  would — mean  a  great  deal,  Mr.  Alban." 

"  Many  thanks  for  your  honest  revelations,  Miss  De  Groot." 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  offended  you." 
•  *;  Not  the  least." 

"And  now  I  must  tell  you  what  brought  me  to  New  Haven, 
and  what  takes  me  away,"  continued  Miss  De  Groot,  diverting  his 
attention  to  another  subject.  "  You  must  kri'ow,  Mr.  Alban,  that 
I  have  a  stepmother.  She  is  not  unkind  to  me,  but  you  are  aware 
that  my  temper  is  infirm.  Mamma  used  to  try  it.  She  is  a  bigoted 
adherent  of  the  religious  vievv^s  in  which  you  have  been  educated, 
and  she  used  to  reflect  very  severely  (no  doubt  she  thought  it  her 
duty)  on  papa's  sentiments,  in  which,  as  you  know,  I  have  been 
brought  up,  while  (I  really  could  not  bear  that)  she  called  my 
own  mother  an  idolater.  Mamma  and  I  quarrelled,  in  short,  and 
papa  took  my  part.    Then  I  begged  to  be  sent  to  school  or  any 


184 


ALB AN . 


where,  and  papa,  finding  it  was  necessary,  consented  to  my  passing 
the  winter  with  the  Everetts,  who  are  distant  relatives.  Now 
for  why  I  am  going  back.  It  is  partly  because  I  have  learned 
lately  from  a  good  source  that  it  is  best  not  to  shun  such  trials, 
but  to  learn  humility  and  patience  by  taking  them  as  they  come, 
even  if  one  has  the  mortification  of  often  displaying  one's  weakness. 
So  I  am  going  home  to  be  a  better  girl  if  I  can,  and  to  bear  the 
disgrace  of  being  a  bad  one,  if  I  can't," 

Our  hero  was  gratified  to  be  the  depositary  of  such  a  confidence  ; 
at  the  same  time  that  there  was  a  force  of  will,  and  an  independent 
clearness  of  thought  in  this  young  girl,  which  prevented  him  from 
feeling  any  thing  like  sentiment  in  her  regard. 

"  May  I  ask  a  question.  Miss  Mary  ?" 

"  Fifty.  I  shall  use  my  discretion  about  answering,  Mr.  Alban." 
*'  Your  music  last  night  suggests  it.    Is  your  mind  turning  to 
your  mother's  faith  ?" 

"  It  is  the  only  true  religion,"  said  Mary. 
"  Heally  I  have  you  got  so  far  already  I" 

"  I  am  indebted  to  you,  Mr.  Alban,  for  the  first  word,  as  far  as 
I  know,  that  prepared  me  to  believe  in  the  Divinity  of  my  Saviour ; 
and  that,  I  beheve,  includes  every  thing." 

"  It  may  be  that  you  are  right  there,"  observed  Alban,  re- 
garding her  with  interest  and  surprise.  "  A  Church  founded  by  an 
incarnate  God  ought  to  be  infallible,  particularly  as  He  promised  it 
perpetual  inspiration,  a  fact  of  which  I  am  surprised  that  Protest- 
ants take  no  notice.  If  Christ  was  divine,  His  Church  ought  to 
be  the  pillar  and  ground  of  Truth." 

"  What  a  little  way  you  are  from  the  truth,  Mr.  Alban  I  I 
am  iure  you  will  come  to  it,"  said  she,  earnestly. 

"  Well,  I  shall  not  be  guilty  of  assailing  a  young  lady's  reli- 
gious convictions,  if  I  sayncz^,"  replied  Alban,  "  that  my  difficulty 
about  Christianity  for  some  time  past  has  been,  that  if  it  be  true, 
Popery  follows.  No  intermediate  ground  is  strong  enough  to  bear 
the  weight  of  a  God-man." 

"  That's  it,  Mr.  Alban  !" 


ALB AN. 


V85 


They  mounted  the  stile  which  marked  the  boundary  of  Mr. 
Everett's  domain.  Again  they  passed  in  Indian  file  along  the 
woodland  snow-path,  the  young  maiden  leading  the  way.  "When 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  house  a  covered  stage-sleigh  was  driving 
out  of  the  avenue. 

"  An  arrival  I"  exclaimed  Miss  De  Groot,  with  a  tell-tale 
blush. 

Alban  went  in  with  her  of  course.  A  portmanteau  stood 
in  the  hall. 

*'  Papa  I"  she  exclaimed.    "  I  thought  so," 

16* 


186 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Alban  had  a  vague  idea  that  the  father  of  Miss  De  Groot  was 
the  representative  of  a  race  of  manorial  proprietors  on  the  North 
River  ;  that  he  was  also  the  owner  of  an  old  farm  residence  on 
New  York  Island,  on  the  ponds  of  whose  domain  he  had  skated  as 
a  boy.  He  remembered  at  that  period  a  large  house  at  the  lower 
end  of  Greenwich-street  which  bore  such  a  name  on  the  door- 
plate  ;  and  far,  far  back  among  his  dimmest  recollections  of  the 
time  when  his  father  lived  in  State-street,  and  he  Avent  to  a 
woman's  school,  appeared  the  image  of  a  little  girl  with  dark 
ringlets,  and  a  passionate  temper,  for  whom,  on  rainy  days,  a  car- 
riage was  sent,  or,  when  it  snowed,  a  buffalo-robed  sleigh,  to  con- 
vey her  the  distance  of  two  or  three  squares  which  intervened 
between  the  aforesaid  mansion  and  Madam   's.  These  remi- 
niscences assumed  really  for  the  first  time  a  definite  conscious  ex- 
istence in  his  mind  when  his  eye  rested  on  the  figure  of  Mr.  De 
Groot  in  the  Everetts'  drawing-room.  It  was  a  form,  face,  and 
even  a  garb,  familiar  to  the  young  New  Yorker  in  days  gone  by. 

Mary's  father  was  a  man  above  the  middle  height,  having  a 
spare  but  well-knit  frame,  slightly  stooping,,  and  a  classic  head. 
His  dark  brown  hair,  cut  short  and  curling  massively,  his  splendid 
brown  eyes,  and  largely  moulded,  but  regular  features,  combined 
to  form  a  commanding,  and,  at  the  same  time,  attractive  physiog- 
nomy. He  was  dressed  in  an  obsolete  fashion  :  a  blue,  gilt-but- 
toned coat  and  buff  waistcoat,  a  frilled  shirt  and  white  cravat. 
Between  him  and  his  daughter  existed,  besides  some  other  varia- 
tions, the  ineffiible  difference  of  sex  and  youth. 

Their  meeting  was  tender  without  being  very  demonstrative. 
Mary  introduced  Alban  with  a  slight  embarrassment  and  yet  with 
perfect  .openness.  ' 

"  Mr.  Alban  Atherton  of  the  Senior  class,  papa.    Mr.  Ather- 


ALB  AN. 


187 


ton  had  kindly  offered  to  take  charge  of  me,  sir,  on  the  boat  to- 
morrow. And  so  you  came  in  an  extra  from  New  York  to  take 
care  of  your  little  girl  yourself" 

"  Not  so  little,"  said  her  father.  "  You  have  grown,  Mary. 
i\'r.  Atherton  is  very  kind,  though,  as  you  say,  and  I  am  much 
obliged  to  him." 

Alban  was  about  to  withdraw,  but  the  Everetts  politely  urged 
him  to  stay  for  tea  ;  Mary  warmly,  although  with  a  rising  color, 
seconded  the  invitation,  and  her  father,  at  whom  he  involuntarily 
glanced,  said,  bending  his  rich  brows,  and  speaking  in  a  rich 
voice,  "  Stay,  Mr.  Atherton." 

They  sat  round  the  table  for  the  Sunday  tea,  and  there  was  a 
beef-steak  for  Mr.  De  Groot,  who  had  arrived  hungry.  He  par- 
took of  it  sparingly,  but  drank  many  cups  of  weak  black  tea, 
conversing  the  while  in  a  very  agreeable  way  with  his  hosts.  At 
length  he  turned  to  our  hero,  and  asked  him  a  quiet  question 
touching  the  new  rehgious  theories  which  had  been  promulgated 
at  New  Haven. 

"  The  point  of  the  new  school,"  said  Alban,  in  an  explanatory 
way,  which  he  judged  level  to  the  apprehension  of  a  Dutch  Uni- 
tarian, "  is  to  get  rid  of  the  mysteriousness  which  has  hitherto 
attached  to  the  doctrine  of  original  sin,  and  the  new  birth,  and  the 
influence  of  the  Spirit  in  regeneration,  and  make  it  all  plain  to 
our  understandings." 

"  And  how  is  that  done,  may  I  ask  ?"  said  Mr.  De  Groot, 
gravely,  while  his  daughter  slightly  reddened. 

"  Oh,  in  the  neatest  manner,"  replied  the  student.  "  Original 
sin  is  explained  thus.  The  will  being  as  the  strongest  motive, 
unhappily  the  motives  which  are  first  presented  to  the  youthful 
stranger  arrived  in  this  world  are  such  as  to  compel  him  to  choo.se 
what  the  law  of  God  forbids.  The  New  Birth  is  the  turning  of 
the  will  from  these  forbidden  objects  to  the  service  of  God  ;  and 
the  agency  by  which  the  will  is  thus  turned  about,  is  the  presen- 
tation of  the  motives  to  obedience  in  so  strong  a  light  by  the 
Spirit,  that  holiness  is  necessarily  the  resulting  choice." 


188 


ALB AN. 


"  The  thought  of  New  England,"  said  Mr.  De  Groot,  when 
Alban  had  finished,  "  may  be  compared  to  momitain  rills,  some  of 
which  leap  boldly  over  the  precipitous  face  of  high  clifTs  ;  others 
follow  gentle  and  sinuous  declivities,  but  all  unite  in  the  common 
valley.  The  theory  you  so  well  state  differs  but  verbally  from 
that  of  Dr.  Channitig,  which  is,  that  man  is  a  being  who  requires 
moral  culture.  The  pure  and  earnest  thinker  will  yet  arise  to 
teach  all  the  different  schools  their  inward  identity.  The  old 
Church" — glancing  at  his  daughter — "  had  a  true  meaning  when 
she  asserted  the  Divinity  of  Christ  ;  and,  indeed,  the  more  purely 
we  contemplate  God  in  Christ,  forgetting  the  mere  man  by  whom 
Eternal  Wisdom  sought  to  instruct  and  elevate  our  race,  the 
nearer  shall  we  be  to  the  soul — not  of  course  to  the  mere  dog- 
matic body — of  the  ancient  Faith." 

This  style  of  speculation  was  new  to  our  hero,  and  altogether 
he  was  somewhat  taken  by  surprise.  He  was  silent  from  modesty 
and  admiration,  but  Mary  De  Groot  replied  to  her  father  with 
feminine  promptitude. 

"  How  can  I  be  near  your  soul,  papa,  by  true  sympathy,  and 
your  body  not  be  precious  to  me  too  ?  Suppose  I  were  to  love  in 
you  the  father  abstractedly,  but  regard  Mr.  Eugene  De  Groot  as 
a  common  acquaintance." 

The  Everetts  laughed.  They  did  not  relish  Mr.  De  Groot's 
pantheistic  refinements.  They  hated  the  orthodox  doctrine  soul 
and  body  both.  Mr.  Everett  said  he  never  could  believe  Unita- 
rianism  and  Trinitarianism  to  be  at  bottom  the  same  doctrine. 

"  I  do  not  say  they  are  the  same  in  form,"  responded  Mr,  De 
Groot,  "  but  they  exemplify  the  same  spiritual  impulse,  that  of 
finding  God  to  be  all,  and  all  to  be  God,"  and  he  looked  at 
Alban. 

"  Then  God  is  sin  and  error,  papa.  He  is  falsehood  and  hate. 
How  dreadful  I"  exclaimed  Mary,  growing  warm. 

"  Sin  and  error,  falsehood  and  hate,"  answered  her  father, 
with  a  calm  smile,  and  in  a  rich  triumphant  intonation,  "  are  but 
the  discords  which  are  resolved  into  the  harmony  of  God." 


ALBAN. 


189 


"  Let  God  be  true  and  every  man  a  liar  !"  quoted  Mary, 
shaking  her  cherubic  head.    "  Ah,  my  dear  father  I" 

"  Mary's  feehiig  is  right,"  returned  her  father,  a  little  coldly. 
"  A  right  feeling  is  the  strength  of  Trinitarianism.  I  own  that 
those  love  most  warmly  who  do  not  so  clearly  distinguish.  The 
hottest  rays  of  the  spectrum  do  not  coincide  with  the  most 
luminous." 

"  But  the  undivided  ray  of  the  sun  both  lights  and  warms," 
answered  Mary,  with  surprising  quickness. 

*'  Let  us  change  the  theme,"  said  Mr.  De  Groot. 

He  did  not  change  it  much.  Reverting  to  original  sin,  he 
ridiculed  the  idea  of  hereditary  guilt  in  the  creatures  of  the  All- 
good.  Then  he  dilated  with  eloquence  on  the  sole  necessity  of  an 
interior  change  in  ourselves  from  the  first  selfishness  of  ignorance 
to  the  disinterested  love  of  God  and  Man,  in  order  to  make  us  at 
one  with  the  Just  and  True.  Christ  first  had  triumphed  over 
selfishness  and  sensuality,  and  sacrificed  all  to  that  disinterested 
love  ;  and  therefore  was  He  said  to  have  redeemed  mankind  :  for 
in  Him  man  was  reconciled  to  God,  i.  e.,  had  attained  a  divine 
disinterestedness,  for  it  was  man  only  who  was  reconciled  to  God 
in  Christ,  not  God — the  ever-benign — who  was  reconciled  to 
man.  His  voice  became  full  of  vibration  and  sweet  cadences  as 
he  proceeded. 

"  Paul  was  inspired,  but  what  is  inspiration  ?  In  its  highest 
expression  you  must  look  for  a  human  element,  Read  your  Bible 
on  your  bended  knee,  but  read  it  not  servilely.  The  great  teacher 
of  the  Gentiles  well  explained  the  Mosaic  records  as  symbolizing 
a  spiritual  system.  The  time  has  come  to  explain  Paul,  as  he 
explained  Moses.  Inspiration  is  not,  never  can  be,  withdrawn 
from  our  race,  no  more  than  God  Himself.  Bat  the  inspired, 
who  ever  feel  a  sacred  confidence  in  their  own  thoughts,  are  few. 
Time  also  must  seal  their  prophecy  ;  time  unfold  it.  The 
prophets  are  always  men  of  a  remote  age,  and  their  writings  are 
ancient.  A  Bible  will  take  a  millennium  to  compose  ;  another  to 
be  accepted." 

15 


190 


ALBAN. 


'*  You  think,  papa,"  said  Mary  De  Groot,  between  laughin 
and  crying,  "  that  a  thousand  years  hence  you  will  pass  for  a 
prophet." 

Mr.  and  Miss  Everett  were  overawed  by  the  melodious  elo- 
quence of  their  guest.  Mr.  De  Groot  was,  in  fact,  one  of  tho 
splendid  Unitarians  whom  their  own  circle  nearly  deified,  and 
whose  daring  transcendentalism,  although  not  accepted  as  sound 
by  the  body  at  large,  composed  for  the  most  part  of  hard,  literal 
thinkers,  and  controlled  by  a  most  New  England  materiahty  of 
conception,  was  nevertheless  listened  to  by  them  all  with  some- 
thing of  that  reverence  which  the  Orientals  pay  to  the  utterances 
of  the  insane. 

The  Everetts  were  very  urgent  with  Mr.  De  Groot  to  induce 
him  to  stay  a  few  days  at  New  Haven.  His  arrival  had  necessa- 
rily superseded  the  attendance  of  our  hero  upon  his  daughter  ; 
but  he  inquired  with  courtesy  if  Mr.  Atherton  meant  at  all  events 
to  go  down  to  New  York  on  the  morrow.  Alban  recalled  his 
conversation  with  Miss  De  Groot  respecting  Mary  Ellsworth,  and 
promptly  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"  We  shall  go  too,"  said  Mr.  De  Groot,  quietly.  "  The  boat 
starts  at  six,  I  believe.  You  are  all  ready  for  the  journey,  Mary  ? 
And  of  course  I  am." 


ALB AN . 


191 


CHAPTER  XX. 

On  Monday  morninj^,  while  Alban  was  dressing  by  candle-light, 
Mr.  Everett's  sleigh-barouche  stopped  at  North  College  gate. 
Then  he  remembered  that  the  arrangements  made  on  Saturday 
had  not  been  revoked.  Mr.  Everett's  servant  came  for  his  trunk. 
Alban  was  sensible  of  an  extreme  awkwardness  in  taking  the 
vacant  seat  in  the  sleigh.  It  was  too  dark  to  discern  the  faces  of 
his  companions,  and  he  fancied  that  their  salutations  were  frigid. 

The  engine  of  the  Fanny  was  in  full  play  when  they  reached 
the  wharf,  snorting  like  a  racer,  and  churning  the  water  behind 
the  boat  into  a  furious  foam.  Her  cables  creaked,  and  the  foot- 
plank  swayed  to  and  fro  with  every  stroke  of  the  paddles.  Mary 
attempting,  like  a  giddy  girl,  to  go  on  board  alone,  was  nearly 
thrown  off — would  have  been,  but  for  Alban's  timely  aid.  It  was 
so  dark  that  no  one  saw  it  but  themselves.  "Without  withdrawing 
his  arm  from  the  waist  it  had  clasped  to  save  her,  he  guided  her 
through  the  crowd  of  boat-hands  and  porters  to  the  door  of  the 
ladies'  cabin.  Mr.  De  Groot  came  on  board  with  a  grim  aspect, 
wrapped  in  Uussian  furs. 

Mr.  Everett  followed  with  a  courteous  but  formal  air,  to  take 
leave  of  his  lovely  guest.  The  girl  of  sixteen,  coyly  bending 
under  the  swinging  lamp  of  the  ladies'  cabin,  gave  him  the  tips 
of  her  fingers  and  the  sweetest  smile.  The  bachelor  of  forty-five 
thawed  before  it.  "  All  aboard  that's  going  I'''  thundered  the 
captain  of  the  Fanny  from  the  wheel-house."  Mr.  Everett  ran 
off  like  a  man  of  five  and  twenty. 

The  cables  M'ere  slipped  ;  the  Fanny  moved  past  the  wood- 
piled  wharf.  Soon  they  were  in  the  icy  bay  ;  then  in  the  tossing 
Sound.  By  daybreak  nothing  could  be  seen  above  the  horizon, 
even  in  the  north,  but  a  white  land-streak,  the  snowy  coast  of 
Connecticut. 


192 


ALB AN. 


The  Fanny  felt  the  winter  rocking  of  the  Sound.  Mr.  De 
Groot's  dyspeptic  stomach  did  not  bear  it  too  well.  He  was  glad 
to  leave  his  daughter  and  Alban  at  the  steamboat  breakfast- 
table.  Even  they  broke  their  fast  daintily,  and  were  glad  to  get 
on  deck  again,  where  Atherton  arranged  a  sheltered  seat  for  Miss 
De  Groof,  while  her  father,  with  his  furs  almost  hiding  his  face, 
lay  near  them  on  a  bale  of  merchandise.  The  familiarizing  in- 
fluence of  travelling  in  company  is  proverbial,  particularly  under 
circumstances  of  bodily  discomfort.  The  young  people  sat  very 
near  to  each  other  by  tacit  mutual  consent.  Mary  De  Groot's 
cloak  of  sables  became  a  matter  of  contention  between  them. 
She,  being  very  warmly  clad,  insisted  on  Alban,  who  was  the  re- 
verse, throwing  it  over  his  lap.    They  compromised  by  sharing  it. 

"  Why,  you  have  only  that  wretched,  scanty,  faded  camlet,  with 
such  a  queer  velvet  collar  standing  above  your  ears.  I  don't  mean 
to  laugh  at  your  student  garb,  Mr.  Alban." 

"  I  thought  my  camlet  was  rather  a  fine  thing  when  I  got  it — 
two  years  ago,  'tis  true." 

"  I  can  fancy  it  being  fine  for  you  two  years  ago.  But  now  it 
is  short,  and  has  lost  its  color.  You  must  get  a  real  Spanish  full 
circle  of  fine  blue  broadcloth,  and  a  pelisse  trimmed  with  furs." 

"  I  can't  afford  such  things,"  replied  the  young  man.  "  And 
if  I  could,  my  father  would  think  me  stark  mad  to  wear  them." 

"  Would  he  really  ?  Now  papa  thinks  nothing  good  enough 
for  me.  But  I  hate  being  dressed  up  hke  a  doll.  It  is  my  pride? 
I  suppose.  Now  that  I  am  going  home  I  shall  take  up  with 
wearing  my  fine  clothes — as  an  act  of  humility."  She  laughed. 
"But,  Mr.  Alban,  are  you  really  skeptical?" 

"  It  would  be  an  affront  to  confess  it  to  a  young  lady — unless 
to  one  like  you,  who,  I  fear,  have  too  much  faith." 

"  I  should  take  it  as  an  affront,  in  general." 

"  For  the  just  reason  that  such  an  avowal  by  a  young  man  is 
usually  equivalent  to  a  profession  that  he  rejects  the  restraints  of 
morahty,"  replied  Alban.  "  But  that  is  not  my  case.  What  has 
destroyed  my  confidence  in  Christianity  is  precisely  that  it  does  not 


ALB AN. 


193 


keep  its  promise  of  making  me  good  and  pure.  I  am  as  anxious 
as  ever  to  be  both." 

Miss  De  Groot  rose  and  went  to  her  father  to  inquire  how  he 

did. 

"  No  better,"  was  the  laconic  reply  of  the  sick  philosopher, 
without  opening  his  eyes. 

When  the  young  lady  returned,  she  insisted  on  her  student- 
friend's  taking  the  sable  cloak  to  himself,  declaring  that  it  really 
oppressed  her.  Alban  was  warmer,  but  not  so  happy,  as  when 
the  rich  heavy  garment  lay  over  Mary  De  Groot's  knee  as  well  as 
his  own.  The  maiden  probably  minded  the  looks  of  the  thing 
more  than  the  reality,  as  there  was  always  a  little  cabin-stool 
partly  interposed  between  them,  on  the  rounds  of  which  she  rested 
her  feet.  The  acquaintance  ripened  hour  by  hour.  One  might 
suppose  that  the  youth  rapidly  fell  in  love.  Bat  mystery  is  almost 
essential  to  excite  the  imagination  at  that  age.  Mary's  absence 
of  disguise  and  clearness  of  apprehension  on  every  topic,  left  no 
recess  of  her  mind  or  heart  into  which  the  pure  light  of  Heaven 
did  not  seem  to  shine.  Moreover,  a  sense  of  honor  led  Alban  to 
refrain  from  every  word  or  act  which  might  be  construed  as  taking 
advantage  of  a  half-grown  girl's  inexperienced  fancy.  And  a  lit- 
tle, it  must  be  confessed,  her  apparent  preference  elated  his  vanity, 
and  this  is  the  feeling  most  opposite  to  love,  in  which  a  natural 
humility  and  self-distrust  ever  mingle. 

The  shores  of  the  narrowing  Sound  began  to  attract  their  at- 
tention. They  passed  slowly  through  fields  of  ice.  Sometimes 
the  scene  was  quite  Arctic.  Coming  upon  a  long  white  building 
with  wings,  lying  under  the  shelter  of  a  bold  promontory,  a  bell 
slowly  tolling  like  a  chapel  bell  saluted  their  ears 

"  Look,  Mr.  Alban,  what  a  site  for  a  convent !" 

17 


194 


ALB AN. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  Would  you  like  to  be  a  nun  ?" 
"Not  I." 

"  They  say  that  nunneries  are  bad  places." 

"  I  have  heard  Protestant  girls  say  so,  but  I  knew  a  girl  who 
had  been  educated  in  a  convent,  and  she  was  the  best  girl  I  ever 
knew.  My  own  mother  passed  all  her  life  in  a  convent  till  she 
was  married,  and  I  have  always  heard  papa  say  that  though 
bigoted,  she  was  the  most  innocent  creature  that  could  possibly  be. 

"  But,  like  other  young  ladies,  you  wish  and  expect  to  be  mar- 
ried one  of  these  days  ?" 

"  Girls  have  a  horror  of  dying  old  maids,  you  know,"  blushing 
and  laughing.  "  So  have  I  ;  it  is  reasonable,  Mr.  Alban  ;  for  old 
maids  are  neglected  and  pitied  by  every  body.  But  I  would  not 
mind — I'm  not  sure  I  don't  prefer — dying  a  young  maid." 

"  A  sweet  idea,"  said  Alban,  "  but  shocking.  You  mustn't 
mention  it." 

"  I  had  a  friend — the  dearest  school-friend  I  ever  had — who 
died  so — in  her  virgin  bloom.  She  was  just  turned  of  twenty,  and 
five  years  older  than  I,  although  we  had  been  room-mates  for  two 
years.  The  most  conscientious  girl  I  ever  knew  I  You  have  heard 
me  speak  of  her  before.  I  owe  her  every  thing.  She  was  to  me 
a  friend,  a  mother,  and  a  sister,  all  in  one." 

These  school-friendships  are  generally  so  exaggerated,  especially 
when  death  has  dissolved  them,  that  Alban  gave  more  credit  to 
Mary's  fancy  than  to  the  real  excellence  of  her  school-mate  for  the 
warmth  of  this  eulogy,  although  its  sincerity  was  attested  by  tears. 
He  observed  that  it  must  have  been  an  inestimable  advantage  at 
Miss  De  Groot's  age  to  have  had  such  a  friend  at  school. 

"You  may  well  say  that,  Mr.  Alban.  I  feel  it  more  than 
ever  now,  knowing  the  source  of  Alexandrine's  angelic  virtues." 


ALB AN. 


195 


*'  She  was  a  Catholic  ?" 

"  She  was.  But  she  never  tried  to  convert  me.  She  had 
promised  when  I  was  placed  with  her  that  she  would  not.  We 
were  two  and  two  in  a  room  throughout  the  establishment,  each 
havinof  a  separate  cot.  There  was  nothing-  peculiar  about  her,  you 
know,  except  that  she  said  her  praj'ers  kneeling  before  a  crucifix 
instead  of  in  bed,  as  most  of  the  girls  used,  and  that  at  night  she 
recited  the  Rosary.  I  wonder  it  did  not  make  a  greater  impression 
upon  me  then  ;  but  I  was  so  prejudiced  against  worshipping  Christ, 
that  I  always  regarded  her  as  an  idohiter,  although  I  used  to  stand 
up  for  her  when  her  religion  was  attacked  by  the  orthodox  girls." 

Mr.  De  Groot's  stomach  had  become  tranquillized  in  the 
smoother  waters  of  East  River.  He  got  up,  approached  the 
young  people,  and  announced  his  intention  of  going  on  the  prome- 
nade deck.  The  wind  had  shifted  to  the  south,  and  the  tempera- 
ture had  become  comparatively  mild  as  they  approached  jSTew  York. 
Mary  instantly  offered  to  accompany  her  father  to  the  hurricane 
deck,  to  which  he  assented,  but  requested  Atherton  to  give  her  his 
arm.  So  Mr.  De  Groot  walked  rapidly  up  and  down  on  one  side 
by  himself,  while  his  daughter  and  Alban,  equally  glad  of  the 
opportunity  of  stretching  their  legs,  promenaded  arm  in  arm,  on  the 
other. 

"  Your  idea  of  dying  unmarried  comes  back  to  me,"  said  Alban, 
perhaps  unfairly  probing  her  thoughts.  "  Have  you  no  day-dreams, 
then.  Miss  Mary,  of  pure,  romantic  love,  in  which  every  thing  is 
noble  and  perfect,  your  lover  a  hero,  yourself  adored  by  him,  and 
so  forth  ?" 

"  Alexandrine  used  to  say  that  castle-building  was  a  vice,  and 
yet  I  do  build  castles  in  the  air  sometimes,  Mr.  Alban.  And  you 
are  very  penetrating  to  know  that  there  is  a  great  temptation,  to 
have  a  hero,  and  I  own  that  in  spite  of  Alexandrine's  warnings  I 
have  not  always  had  the  virtue  to  resist  it.  But,  since  you  are  so 
curious,  my  romance  i«  always  a  tragedy  :  the  heroine  dies." 

"  It  was  Alexandrine's  death  that  put  such  ideas  into  your 
head." 


196 


ALB AN. 


"  0  dear,  no  I  I  have  had  them  these  three  years — but  let  us 
talk  of  something  else." 

By  a  little  teasing  he  got  her  to  pursue  the  subject.  She 
was  shy  of  it,  yet  willing  to  be  persuaded. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  it  was  a  singular  dream  I  had  three 
years  ago,  which  first  suggested  to  me  the  idea  that  I  should  die 
— not  exactly  unmarried — but  I  can't  well  explain  it  to  you,  JMr. 
Alban." 

"  You  know  I  have  always  tried  to  do  you  good,"  said  Alban, 
in  an  insinuating  tone. 

"  You  have,  Mr.  Alban.  I  feel  it,  I  assure  you.  Well,  I  will 
tell  you  my  story.  But  let  us  stand  out  of  the  wind  :  it  flutters 
my  clothes  so  that  I  can't  hear  myself  talk.  The  thing  occurred 
when  I  had  been  a  few  months  at  school.  Papa  and  my  present 
mother  were  in  Europe,  you  know  ;  so  that  I  Vv^as  like  an  orphan, 
and  it  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  had  even  been  away 
from  home.  There  were  more  than  a  hundred  girls  in  the 
school,  and  among  so  many,  some  of  course  would  be  bad.  But 
I  must  say,  Mr.  Alban,  that  our  public  opinion  was  against  bad- 
ness, and  those  who  were  openly  wicked,  or  were  known  to  be 
secretly  so,  were  kept  at  a  distance  by  the  others.  We  had  a 
great  deal  of  pride,  and  there  was  no  end  of  foolish  talking  about 
fashions,  and  society,  and  beaux,  and  so  on,  but  I  never  knew  in  my 
circle  of  intimates  the  slightest  approach  to  impropriety  in  word 
or  conduct  that  was  not  frowned  down  at  once.  But  those  who 
were  ba.d  and  had  the  tact  to  conceal  it,  w^ere  dangerous  friends, 
as  you  may  suppose.  My  first  room-mate  was  of  this  description. 
Papa  and  mamma  had  chosen  her  for  me,  because  our  families 
were  acquainted,  and  because  her  manners  were  so  lady-like. 
She  was  about  two  years  my  senior.  There  is  no  telling  you  in 
how  many  ways  that  girl  was  unprincipled.  I  shudder  to  think 
what  a  risk  I  ran  during  the  three  or  four  months  that  I  was  her 
room-mate.  Indeed,  I  did  not  quite  escape.  Is  it  not  strange,  Mr. 
Alban,  that  evil  companions  always  do  us  harm,  although  without 
our  own  consent  they  can  do  us  none  ?" 


AL  BAN . 


197 


"  It  is  very  true." 

"  Henrietta  was  idle,  vain,  mendacious — does  not  that  say  all  ? 
A  liar  is  already  every  thing  bad.  She  was  mean,  a  petty  thief — 
she  stole  confectionary  and  fruit  from  the  g-irls,  and  even  once,  a 
trinket,  which  I  discovered  and  returned  to  the  owner — and — she 
was  not  modest.  She  was  always  on  her  guard  in  the  school,  for 
she  loved  popularity — no  one  louder  than  she  to  condemn  any  thing 
amiss  in  others — but  before  a  little  girl  like  me,  her  room-mate, 
who  knew  necessarily  most  of  her  faults,  she  betrayed  even  this. 
You  must  remember  that  I  was  only  a  few  months  past  thirteen. 
I  was  afraid  to  tell  of  her.  I  could  not  bear  to  be  a  tell-tale,  of 
all  things  ;  and  insensibly  I  began  to  be  less  shocked  than  at  the 
first  discovery  of  her  badness,  and  sometimes  I  was  conscioiis  of  a 
temptation  (so  weak  we  are)  to  imitate.  I  claim  no  merit  for  not 
telling  lies,  cheating,  or  stealing  sugar  and  cake  ;  such  meau 
vices  ;  but  to  neglect  my  books,  wardrobe,  and  person,  spend  my 
time  in  looking  at  myself  in  the  glass,  or  reading  the  novels  Henri- 
etta had  surreptitiously  procured,  and,  worst  of  all,  to  think  when 
alone  of  what  she  had  said  to  me  on  topics  which  openly  to  her  I 
resented  her  mentioning — these  things,  Mr.  Alban,  sorely  tried  the 
principle  of  a  child  to  avoid." 

"  I  tremble  for  you." 

"  At  last  : — it  was  on  a  day,  or  rather  a  night,  of  mid- winter  ; 
— a  bitter  night,  when  the  door-handles  in  our  fireless  dormitories 
blistered  my  little  hands,  and  the  crusty  snow  on  the  window- 
panes  made  thern  hall-dark  in  spite  of  the  moon,  after  the  candle 
was  put  out.  We  had  gone  to  bed,  and  Henrietta  talked  to  me. 
She  was  in  one  of  her  communicative  moods,  such  as  I  had  often 
answered  by  flying  into  an  impotent  passion.  That  night,  some- 
how, I  had  not  the  spirit  to  be  angry,  I  had  been  thinking  of  my 
desolate,  half-orphan  condition,  and  the  difference  between  school 
and  home,  and  what  care  my  own  mother  would  have  taken  to 
guard  the  innocence  of  my  mind,  of  which  I  was  being  ruthlessly 
robbed,  and  (I  well  remember)  of  the  terrible  school-future  that 
lay  before  me,  when  perhaps  I  should  get  to  be  as  bad  as  this  cor- 

17* 


198 


ALBAN. 


rupt  companion, — and  even  at  the  moment  I  was  assailed  by  tlie 
dreadful  supfirestions  of  curiosity  to  know  how  I  should  feel  if  I 
were  M'icked  like  her.  So  while  she  talked,  I  lay  silent,  weeping 
and  strufriilitig  with  myself — oh,  it  was  horrible  I"  crie-d  Mary  De 
Groot,  half  turning'  away  from  her  companion,  and  hiding  her  face 
in  the  sable  of  her  muff. 

"  Poor  child  I"  said  Alban,  in  a  tone  of  deep  commiseration, 
"  I  enter  into  your  feelings  perfectly.     It  is  a  pitiable  tale." 

She  walked  on  a  little  way,  looking  down,  bu.t  never  with- 
drew her  hand  from  his  arm. 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  being  carried  away  to  tell  so  much — but 
now  I  mu?,t  finish." — She  resumed  in  a  steady  voice. — "  I  was 
always  sensitive  about  being  touched.  It  was  one  reason  of  my 
dislike  to  Henrietta,  which  amounted  to  perfect  detestation  ;  for 
she  was  very  caressing.  Me  she  generally  left  alone  ;  for  the 
contrary  was  sure  to  provoke  a  storm.  I  believe  I  was  terribly 
quick-tempered.  Well,  this  night,  when  she  found  I  did  not  reply 
to  her  as  usual,  she  got  up,  and  making  a  plea  of  the  cold,  pro- 
posed to  get  into  my  cot.  I  flamed  up  in  a  moment.  I  said  she 
shouldn't  ;  I  resisted  ;  I  struck  her.  She  got  angry,  too,  and  said 
she  would  in  spite  of  me.  I  soon  found  that  she  was  a  great  deal 
the  strongest,  as  well  she  might  be.  She  overpowered  me,  and 
then  I  experienced  the  most  piercing  temptation  of  my  life,  before 
or  since,  which  was  to  abandon  that  inward  resistance  which  I 
had  hitherto  opposed  to  her  corrupting  influence — for  it  wearied 
my  life — and  henceforth  be  even  like  the  companion  to  whom 
Providence  seemed  to  have  abandoned  my  orphan  youth.  I  be- 
lieve it  was  the  thought  of  my  mother  that  saved  me.  My  de- 
spair changed  to  fury.  I  fastened  my  teeth  suddenly  in  Henri- 
etta's arm,  and  she  let  me  go  with  a  scream.  I  sprang  up  and  ran 
just  as  I  was,  and  as  fast  as  I  could,  through  the  hall  and  down 
stairs,  to  the  room  of  the  principal,  where  I  burst  in  and  threw 
myself  at  her  leet.  Fancy  her  astonishment.  I  recounted  with 
sobs  the  insult  I  had  received,  exposed  Henrietta  in  all  respects, 
and  implored  Madam   to  let  me  have  a  room  by  myself. 


ALB AN. 


199 


"  How  well  I  remember  her  conducting  me,  barefoot  and  in 
my  little  night-dress,  up  a  moon-lit  stair  and  into  a  large,  carpeted 
room,  where  was  indeed  a  single  cot,  but  occupied.  The  young 
lady  occupying  it  started  up,  and  the  principal,  having  told  my 
story  with  brevity,  said  to  her,  '  Will  you  change  beds  for  to-night 
with  this  child,  Alexandrine,  or  will  you  take  her  into  yours  V — 
'  If  she  will  come  to  me,'  replied  Alexandrine,  '  I  will  take  her 
into  mine.'  The  next  day  at  her  earnest  petition  I  was  placed  with 
her,  and  Henrietta  was  sent  away — packed  off  home  I  Nobody 

ever  knew  why,  except  Madam  ,  Alexandrine,  and  myself; 

and  that  caused  me  a  great  deal  of  suffering  ;  for  I  passed  for  a 
tell-tale  (Henrietta  gave  me  the  nam^e  ere  she  quitted  the  house) 
mitil  I  left  the  school.  Q.uick  as  my  temper  was,  I  had  been  the 
universal  favorite  before  ;  and  after  it,  although  I  was  respected, 
I  was  never  popular  again.  I  don't  think  any  of  my  female 
friends. now  love  me  much." 

"Did  not  Alexandrine  love  you  ?" 

"  Did  Alexandrine  love  me,  Mr.  Alban  I  Oh,  never  shall  I 
forget  the  tenderness  with  which  she  folded  me  to  her  bosom  that 
first  night  that  I,  little  trembler,  lay  beside  her  like  a  frightened 
dove.  How  sweetly  she  talked  to  me,  how  wisely  she  instructed 
me,  how  earnestly  she  prayed  for  me  I  She  told  me  that  Jesus 
was  the  lover  of  chastity  and  purity,  and  that  when  He  became 
man  for  our  sakes  He  chose  to  reside  first  in  the  bosom  of  a  spot- 
less virgin,  probably  at  that  time  not  a  great  deal  older  than  I 
was.  Then  when  I  cried  and  confessed  to  her  in  what  respects  I 
had  not  been  so  good  as  she  thought,  she  begged  me  never  to 
think  or  speak  of  it  again  as  long  as  I  lived. — '  These  are  almost 
involuntary  stains,  dear  Mary,'  she  said,  '  which  your  brave  and 
lovely  behavior  of  to-night  has,  I  am  sure,  entirely  effaced.  Ex- 
cept our  immaculate  Lady,  perhaps  no  mortal  tempted  as  you 
were,  was  ever  entirely  free  from  such.' — '  Did  I  do  right  to  bite 
Henrietta  V  I  asked. — '  A  thousand  times  right !'  exclaimed  Alex- 
andrine, in  a  way  that  made  me  love  her  so  dearly  !  '  You  would 
have  done  right  to  bite  her  head  off,  if  you  could,  sooner  than  risk 


200 


A  L  B  A  N  . 


consenting  to  a  mortal  sin  !' — Ah,  Mr.  Alban,  you  are  as  gentle 
as  a  girl,  and  it  makes  me  forget  who  you  are." 

"  Still  you  have  not  told  me  your  dream." 

"  It  was  just  four  weeks  after  that.  I  had  fallen  asleep  in  my 
cot  with  my  hands  crossed  on  my  breast  as  Alexandrine  had  taught 
me,  and  I  knew  that  1  was  dreaming  of  the  room  being  full  of 
angels.  Alexandrine  had  told  me  about  our  guardian  angels.  At 
last  I  became  sensible  that  one  approached  my  bed,  and  by  degrees 
all  the  rest  faded  away.  It  was  not  winged,  as  we  see  angels 
represented  in  pictures.  Its  face  was  beautiful,  and  its  golden  hair 
was  full  of  light,  by  which  the  rest  of  the  appearance  seemed  visi- 
ble. Its  garments  were  simple  and  white,  girt  under  the  breast 
with  a  golden  girdle,  and  its  sparkling  hands  were  crossed  on  its 
bosom.    Its  eyes,  radiant  and  full  of  love,  were  fastened  on  me." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  It  spoke  to  me.  You  can  form  no  idea  of  the  mortal  fear  I 
was  in.  It  was  not  like  dreaming  of  one  speaking  to  you  ;  but  if 
you  saw  some  one  in  your  room  and  supposed  you  were  dreami^ig, 
and  the  person  were  suddenly  to  speak,  you  know  how  it  would 
startle  you. — '  Mary,'  it  said, — but  I  need  not  repeat  the  very 
•words  ; — they  intimated  that  it  was  the  spirit  of  my  mother,  and 
warned  me  just  in  the  simple  way  that  a  living  mother  might, 
against  three  things — pride,  love  of  dress,  and  whatever  could  sully 
a  maiden's  purity  ;  '  ibr  in  three  years,'  concluded  the  vision,  '  you 
will  be  married  and  buried  in  one  day.' — You  will  say,  Mr.  Alban, 
that  this  singular  admonition  is  easily  accounted  for,  like  the  vision 
itself,  by  the  strong  impression  made  on  my  mind  by  recent  occur- 
rences. I  leave  you  to  settle  that  as  you  hke.  I  only  know  that 
Alexandrine  said  I  shrieked,  and  that  springing  up  to  waken  me, 
she  found  me  cold  and  insensible,  not  asleep,  but  having  fainted 
quite  away.  The  next  year,  when  I  had  some  expectation  of 
dreaming  again,  nothing  happened  that  is  worth  mentioning  ; 
but  on  the  second  anniversary  Alexandrine  died,  and  she  declared 
a  little  while  before  she  expired,  being  supported  at  the  time  in  my 
arms,  that  the  same  bright  visitant  whom  I  had  described  came 


ALB AN, 


201 


into  the  room,  (she  was  sleeping,  and  told  me  this  when  she  awoke,) 
approached  and  touched  her,  and  that  the  soft,  sparkling  hand  sent 
a  coldness  like  ice  to  her  heart." 

"  Strange  I    What  is  the  day  thus  marked  ?" 

"Next  Saturday  is  the  anniversary." 

"  Did  you  tell  any  one  your  dream  at  the  time  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  told  it  to  Alexandrine  herself,  and  to  several  girls 
who  were  intimate  with  us.  They  all  said  '  Well,  Mary,  you  must 
take  care  not  to  marry  till  the  time  fixed  by  the  vision  is  gone  by. 
But  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Alban,  if  it  is  possible  so  to  disappoint  a  real 
prophecy,  which  always  comes  true  by  some  combination  that  we 
do  not  foresee.  As  the  time  approaches  I  cannot  help  thinking  of 
it  a  good  deal.  It  is  one  reason  why  I  am  anxious  to  be  baptized. 
If  I  were  baptized,  I  should  be  willing  to  die  next  Saturday,  wed- 
ded or  unwedded  :  and  as  I  was  saying  to  you,  Mr  Alban,  such  is 
the  picture  that  closes  7nij  day-dreams, — myself  vested  as  a  bride 
with  orange  flowers  and  veil,  but  white  as  they,  and  stiff,  laid  out 
with  bloodless  hands  crossed  and  tied  on  my  girlish  breast,  ready 
for  the  pure  and  passionless  grave." 

"  Dreadful  !" 

The  Fanny  was  got  alongside  the  wharf  by  cables  and  back- 
ing water,  with  hoarse  vociferations  of  the  captain  from  the  wheel 
deck.  The  plank  was  thrown  across  the  gangway  in  the  midst 
of  a  flock  of  drivers  flourishing  their  whips,  very  much  as  at  the  pres- 
ent day.  Mr.  De  Groot's  carriage  was  waiting  on  the  wharf.  He 
offered  Alban  a  seat,  which  our  hero  declined,  but  accepted  an  in- 
vitation to  call  very  soon  at  Mr.  De  Groot's  residence  up  town. 
In  New  York  the  snow  was  pretty  much  confined  to  the  dirty  heaps 
shovelled  up  on  the  sides  of  the  streets.  Alban  had  soon  passed  all 
the  familiar  corners,  and  was  set  down  by  his  hackney-coach  at  the 
old  house  in  Grey-street.  Embraced  with  pride  and  aflection  by 
his  father  and  mother,  and  sitting  between  them  on  the  old-fashioned 
chintz  settee,  he  felt  that  their  hearth  was  the  warmest,  brightest 
spot  in  the  world. 


BOOK  IV. 


CHAPTER  1. 

Call  on  Mr.  De  Groot  ?  Of  course  you  must,  my  son,  since 
he  asked  you.  Why,  what  a  proud  fellow  you  are  I"  said  Mr. 
Atherton. 

It  was  in  a  sunny  back  parlor,  snug  and  old  fashioned,  with 
the  wood  fire  blazing  cheerily  on  tall  brass  andirons,  and  a  bright 
copper  kettle  singing  on  a  chafing-dish  inside  the  fender.  For 
the  Athertons  were  at  breakfast,  and  a  tidy  girl  brought  in  from 
time  to  time,  a  hot  plateful  of  that  Knickerbocker  delicacy — 
buckwheat  cakes. 

The  gilt  pendulum  of  an  old-fashioned  French  clock  on  the 
handsome  mantel,  swung  and  ticked  between  wdiite  marble  columns, 
and  the  hands  pointed  to  the  quarter  before  nine.  The  apartment 
was  pretty  enough  altogether.  A  massive  sideboard  of  golden 
mahogany,  that  shone  like  a  mirror  from  constant  w^axing  and 
rubbing,  Avith  its  bright  ring  handles  dependent  from  gilt  lion- 
heads,  and  an  escritoire  book-case  to  match,  had  been  stylish  in 
our  grf  ndmothers'  day,  while  the  light  chintz-curtained  chairs  and 
settee,  painted  in  green  and  gold  of  the  Greek  pattern,  bespoke  a 
later  date  and  newer  country.  The  chimney  was  adorned  with 
miniatures,  the  walls  with  portraits — Mr.  Atherton,  senior,  in 
a  red-backed  chair,  and  the  same  boy-face  in  gown  and  bands, 


ALB AN, 


203 


which  we  have  seen  once  before  at  the  old  Atherton  house  in 
Yaiimouth;  both  mellow,  broad,  old-masterish,  but  plain,  un- 
affected pictures  ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  room,  on  either  side  of 
the  folding  doors,  hung  a  water-color  of  no  great  merit,  but  both 
immense  favorites  with  Mrs.  Atherton,  having  been  executed  by 
Rachel  one  winter  that  she  spent  with  her  aunt  in  the  metropolis. 
To  complete  this  interior,  we  should  not  omit  the  Indian  chintz 
window-curtains,  and  the  green  crumb-cloth  under  the  table,  to 
save  the  ingrain  carpet,  the  iormal  squares  of  which  our  hero  had 
measured  to  and  fro  in  the  reveries  of  many  a  dreamy  vacation. 

"  But  you  say  that  he  is  one  of  the  richest  men  in  New  York, 
sir." 

"Undoubtedly.  And  a  great  aristocrat,  like  all  them  old 
patroons,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  whose  early  education,  owing  to  his 
father's  death,  had  been  left  pretty  much  to  chance.  Mr.  Ather- 
ton laughed  heartily  at  the  idea  of  any  one  being  an  aristocrat  in 
these  times,  and  proceeded.  "  I  remember  when  his  father  was 
not  so  rich,  but  extremely  proud  of  being  the  Patroon  of  Walla- 
hook.  Thirty  years  ago  he  offered  me  the  old  De  Groot  farm  up 
town — it  was  out  of  town  then — for  a  mere  trifle.  I  wish  I  had 
bought  it  and  retired  from  business  ;  but  I  had  no  idea  that  real 
estate  would  rise  so  immensely  in  New  York.  The  property  is 
worth  a  million  now  at  the  least  calculation,  and  by  building  ju- 
diciously he  may  treble  it  in  ten  years.  You  must  call  on  him, 
Alban.  I  dare  say  he  will  show  you  his  pictures  and  books. 
Perhaps  not.  He  is  shy  of  letting  people  see  his  things.  He  may 
receive  you  in  his  office." 

"  It  is  likely  that  Alban  will  see  Miss  De  Groot,  since  he  is  so 
well  acquainted  with  her,"  observed  Mrs.  Atherton,  with  a  slight 
warmth.  "  I  should  think  it  was  very  strange  if  he  didn't,  after 
she  had  asked  him  to  take  charge  of  her  on  the  boat." 

"  Mr.  De  Groot  is  a  very  proud  man,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Ather- 
ton, laughing  and  drumming  on  the  table,  for  his  breakfast  was 
finished. 

"  I  shall  feel  awkwardly  in  calling,"  said  Alban. 


204 


ALB AN , 


*'  I  don't  see  why,"  replied  his  mother.  "  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  feel  awkward  about  calling  on  any  body." 

"  I  don't  think  Mary  is  at  all  proud,"  continued  Alban. 

"  I  should  call  upon  her  just  the  same,  whether  she  is  proud 
or  not,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Undoubtedly,"  said  his  father,  "  That  should  make  no  dif- 
ference. Jf  you  meet  with  a  cool  reception,  you  need'nt  be  in  a 
hurry  to  pay  a  second  visit  ;  that's  all." 

"  A  cool  reception  I"  said  Alban,  musingly. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  De  Groot  will  be  very  polite  to  you,"  said  his 
father. 

"  Pity  if  he  were  not,  in  his  own  house  I"  observed  Mrs. 
Atherton. 

"  You  will  ask  for  Mr.  De  Groot,  you  know,"  said  his  father, 
"  Afterwards  make  inquiries  for  Miss  De  Groot,  I  dare  say,  (since 
your  mother  seems  to  think  so.)  she  will  come  down  and  make  you 
a  curtsey  before  you  go." 

"  If  I  don't  see  more  of  Miss  Mary  than  that,  I  shan't  call 
again  in  a  hurry,"  said  Alban. 

"  Mr.  De  Groot  does  not  live  in  Greenwich-street  now,"  pur- 
sued his  father.  "  He  has  built  a  new  house  on  his  up-town 
property — in  the  Fifth  Avenue,  I  think  they  call  it.  You  had 
better  take  the  omnibus  as  far  as  Washington  Place.  It  is  the 
nearest  point.  You  go  on  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  the 
new  houses  on  Washington  Parade-ground.  i\[r.  De  Groot's  is  a 
large  house  of  brown  stone  standing  by  itself    You  can't  miss  it." 

Before  departing  for  Wall-street,  Mr.  Atherton,  who  knew 
what  young  men  want,  drew  his  sou  a  check,  and  bade  him  order 
a  new  suit  and  a  fashionable  cloak  of  a  Broadway  tailor. 


ALB AN . 


205 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  A  LARGE  house  of  biown  stone  !" 

It  were  not  a  very  clear  direction  now  to  a  house  on  the  Fifth 
Avenue,  but  it  sufficed  sixteen  years  ago.  Passing  the  "  new 
houses"  on  Washington  Square,  the  mansion  thus  described  became 
visible  at  a  distance,  with  fruit-trees  and  the  glazed  apex  of  a  con- 
servatory rising  above  its  garden  wall.  Arriving  at  the  square  on 
which  it  stood,  Alban  beheld  the  front  and  lateral  perspective  of 
something  like  a  palace.  A  lofty  rustic  basement  of  great  beauty 
and  solidity,  crowned  by  a  massive,  projecting  balcony,  had  in  the 
centre  a  nobly-arched  portal. 

The  vestibule  was  hospitably  open,  showing  a  pavement  of 
tesselated  marble,  a  rich  hanging  lamp,  and  an  inner  folding-door 
of  carved  and  polished  black  walnut,  with  plate  glass  hghts  cur- 
tained with  French  embroidery.  Alban  timidly  pulled  a  silver 
bell-handle,  and  one  of  the  battants  was  instantly  flung  open  by 
a  blue-liveried  porter  of  foreign  aspect. 

"  Is  it  on  business  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Alban,  foolishly  coloring,  "  I  merely  called  to  see 
Mr,  De  Groot." 

"  Oh  I"  said  the  porter,  with  a  glance  that  took  in  our  hero, 
faded  purple  camlet  and  all,  but  admitting  him.  "  What  name 
shall  I  say,  sir  ?" 

Alban  found  himself  in  an  imposing  hall  of  great  length, 
paved  with  white  and  green  marble  and  adorned  with  busts  and 
bronzes  ;  but  the  porter  rather  insisted  on  his  entering  a  sort  of 
waiting-room,  an  oil-cloth'd  apartment  hung  with  engravings 
from  Trumbull's  pictures,  and  having  high-backed  walnut  chairs 
stiffly  ranged  against  the  walls.  Our  hero  rallied  at  the  print  of 
the  Declaration ;  the  head  of  his  ancestor  among  the  Signers, 

18 


206 


ALB  AN. 


inspiring  a  feeling  akin  to  that  with  which  a  scion  of  English  no- 
bility might  have  seen  his  on  the  tapestry  of  the  Lords.  The  ser- 
vant who  had  taken  his  card  returned,  took  the  purple  camlet 
with  a  grimace  of  respect,  and  showed  him  up  an  imposing 
staircase  to  the  drawing-rooms. 

Three  spacious  saloons  en  suite  extended  in  a  vista  of  hitherto 
unimagined  splendor,  carpeted  from  French  looms,  ceiled  by  Ital- 
ian painters,  the  walls  covered  with  the  delicate  papers  invented 
by  Parisian  taste,  and  hung  with  endless  pictures  in  elaborate 
frames  of  massive  gilding.  Ideal  busts  of  lovely  female  person- 
ifications, placed  on  pedestals  of  buhl  or  precious  marble,  flanked 
the  doors  ;  statues  sparkled  like  snow  in  front  of  the  lofty  mirrors. 
Tables  of  buhl  and  pietra  dura,  cabinets  of  inlaid  work,  and 
etageres  of  rosewood  or  ebony,  supported  vases  and  other  curious 
objects  ;  here  gleaming  solitary,  as  if  too  rare  to  be  otherwise  ; 
there  grouped  in  orderly  confusion  ;  of  porcelain,  of  Etruscan  pot- 
tery, of  half-gems,  even  of  gold  and  silver.  The  wilderness  of 
sumptuous  seats  astonished  him.  The  corresponding  richness  of 
the  window-curtains  was  enhanced  by  the  style  of  the  shutter- 
panelling  in  dark  wood,  and  by  the  massive  stone  balconies  seen 
between.  A  line  of  rich  chandeliers  consummated  an  efiect 
which  was  not  of  mere  splendor,  for  besides  the  grand  eflect  of 
space,  a  certain  simplicity  presided  over  all. 

The  rooms  were  all  well-warmed,  but  in  one  only  a  sea-coal 
fire  was  burning  brightly  in  a  mantel-piece  of  sculpture  in  Carrara 
marble.  The  shelf,  sustained  by  elegant  Caryatides,  was  orna- 
mented by  an  Italian  clock  of  bronze, — Phuibus  and  the  Hours  ; 
supported  on  one  side  by  a  magnificent  bacchanal  cup  of  the  same 
material,  with  a  lip  of  gold,  and  on  the  other  by  a  funeral-urn, 
with  candelabra,  and  so  forth, — beautiful  and  heathenish.  While 
Alban  yet  stood  admiring  it  (for  he  was  afraid  to  sit  on  the 
rich  chairs)  the  soft  rustle  of  female  garments  made  him  turn. 
It  was  Mary's  simple  garb,  and  the  same  beautiful,  ingenuous 
face,  bright  with  friendship. 

**  Do  these  rooms  make  as  awful  an  impression  on  you,  Mr. 


ALBAN . 


207 


Alban,  as  they  did  on  me  when  I  first  came  here  from  school,  I 
wonder." 

"  I  am  quite  overpowered." 

"  You  will  soon  get  over  that  feelino; — wonderfully  soon." 

She  made  him  sit  on  one  of  the  richest  sofas,  while  she  placed 
herself  near  him  in  a  light  chair  of  gilding  and  brocade.  She  in- 
quired if  he  had  found  his  parents  in  good  health,  and  told  him 
that  papa  had  requested  her  to  show  him  the  house  and  pictures. 

"  At  least,"  thought  Alban,  "  it  is  not  the  reception  which 
my  father  led  me  to  anticipate." 

The  pictures  in  the  drawing-rooms  were  chiefly  by  such  Amer- 
ican artists  as  were  then  known  to  fame.  Allston  contributed  a  fiery 
Prophet  and  a  pair  of  love-lyrics  ;  Cole,  two  romance-landscapes. 
Stuart  was  represented  by  a  lovely  female  head.  A  conspicuous 
portrait  by  Ingham,  finished  like  a  miniature,  represented  a  beau- 
tiful, fair  woman,  in  a  well-fitting  muslin  robe  and  silk  shawl, 
move  natural  than  reality  itself,  which  pleased  our  hero's  unde- 
veloped taste.    "  My  stepmother  I"  said  Mary. 

There  was  a  child's  head  by  Sully,  with  the  shoulders  bare 
to  the  waist  ;  the  flesh  crude  ;  the  slight  drapery  merely  indica- 
ted ;  but  the  dark,  living  eyes  a  miracle. 

"  That's  me  at  seven,"  said  Mary,  with  a  blush. 

Adjacent  to  the  third  saloon  of  the  suite  was  a  cabinet,  or 
rather  boudoir,  in  which  one  wall  was  occupied  by  a  large  paint- 
ing covered  with  red  silk.  The  young  lady  with  a  slight  hesita- 
tion drew  aside  the  curtain. 

It  was  the  Ariadne  of  Vanderlyn — world-renowned  for  that 
one  picture,  but  doubly  a  favorite  with  Mr.  De  Groot  on  account 
of  his  descent.  The  enchantress  is  represented  at  the  moment 
when  Theseus  deserts  her  in  her  sleep.  She  lies  on  a  bank  of 
grass  and  sand,  backed  by  trees.  Her  drapery — purple  and  linen 
— is  beneath  her,  an  extremity  of  the  latter  slightly  covering  the 
groin.  The  arms  being  raised  over  the  head  in  a  natural  attitude 
of  slumber,  the  hands  freely  grasp  the  black,  goddess-like,  waving 
and  dishevelled  tresses.    The  flesh,  upon  the  whole,  is  sweetly  col- 


208 


ALBAN . 


ored,  especially  in  the  face,  the  light  broad  and  simple,  the  outline 
elegant.  The  greatest  beauty  of  the  picture,  however,  is  the  back- 
ground— a  deep,  olive-tinted  landscape,  with  mighty  trees  and 
broad  leaves  overshadowing  the  repose  of  Ariadne,  while  in  the 
distance  is  seen  the  Mediterranean,  with  the  bark  of  the  treacherous 
Theseus.  The  smoke  of  his  parting  sacrifice  ascends  from  the 
shore,  and  a  rosy,  volcanic  peak  rises  beyond  the  blue  waves. 

While  Alban  w^as  looking  at  it  he  found  that  Mary  had  disap- 
peared, and  perceiving  that  the  Venetian  window  of  the  cabhiet 
was  open  into  a  conservatory,  he  went  out  presently,  and  discovered 
her  making  a  nosegay.  An  amphitheatre  of  beautiful  plants,  with 
orange,  lemon,  and  magnolia  trees,  surrounded  a  fountain.  Going 
round  it  (after  she  had  given  him  the  bouquet)  they  came  to  a  flight 
of  steps,  and  a  door  in  a  blank  wall.  It  admitted  them  into  a  lofty 
gallery  lighted  from  the  roof.  Here  was  the  bulk  of  her  father's 
collection — E.eynolds,  Wilkie,  Newton,  Leslie — names  that  awed 
Alban — a  reputed  Titian,  some  fine  Italian  pictures  by  less  known 
masters,  some  Flemish  interiors  of  churches,  and  Dutch  market 
scenes.  The  floor  was  parqueted  and  spread  at  intervals  with 
small  Turkey  carpets,  on  which  antique  oaken  chairs  were  placed 
for  the  view.  There  were  also  huge  stands  filled  with  portfolios, 
and  solid  oaken  tables  for  the  inspection  of  engravings  ; — "  But 
these,"  said  Mary  De  Groot,  "  we  will  keep  for  the  next  time,  Mr. 
Alban." 

They  spent  more  than  an  hour  in  the  gallery,  time  passing 
away  quickly  where  was  so  much  to  interest ;  and  Mary  was  never 
weary  of  those  interiors  of  churches,  where  in  one  a  priest  was 
saying  mass  at  an  early  hour,  with  a  devout  congregation  of 
peasants,  in  another  a  stately  procession  bore  some  holy  relic  to  its 
shrine.  Except  the  little  chapel  at  New  Haven  these  were  the 
only  Catholic  churches  she  knew.  She  entertained  Alban  mean- 
while with  her  lively  and  natural  gossip.  When  they  had  looked 
enough,  she  took  him  back  by  the  conservatory,  and  the  Venetian 
window  of  the  Vanderlyn  cabinet.  Mary  drew  the  curtain  before 
the  Ariadne,  and  then  led  him  on  to  a  room  beyond. 


AL  B  AN. 


209 


"  This  IS  the  dining-room,  Mr.  Alban.  I  have  kept  it  for  the 
last." 

Alban  was  not  surprised  at  her  doing  so  as  he  gazed  around  the 
apartment.  It  was  wainscoted  to  a  certain  height  with  old  dark 
oak,  carved  with  fruit,  flowers,  satyrs,  bacchantes,  and  leopards' 
heads.  Superiorly  the  walls  were  covered  with  red-figured  velvet 
and  adorned  with  genuine  family  pieces  of  the  Dutch  and  Flemish 
schools,  brought  by  the  ancestor  of  Mr.  De  Groot  from  Holland. 
In  splendor  of  tone  and  purity  of  carnations  these  surpassed  all  the 
rest  of  his  collection.  Alban  had  no  idea  that  New  York  possessed 
such  treasures.  "  A  good  many  old  Dutch  families,"  said  Mary, 
with  pride,  "possess  such  heir-looms;  but  none  so  untouched  as 
ours,  or  so  valuable.    The  carved  oak  papa  got  from  Belgium." 

Alban  slightly  smiled,  but  he  felt  a  strong  sympathy.  The 
furniture  of  the  banqueting-room  corresponded  to  the  walls — dark 
carved  oak  and  red  velvet.  Massive  silver  sconces  holding  wax 
candles  were  fixed  to  the  wainscotting  at  suitable  intervals,  and  at 
the  upper  end  of  the  room,  a  lofty  oaken  cupboard  in  the  same 
style,  with  its  carved  doors  thrown  open,  displayed  a  range  of 
shelves  that  glittered  with  ancient  plate  and  porcelain.  The  room 
was  lighted  by  a  single  large  window,  the  lower  half  of  which  was 
filled  with  stained  glass  that  probably  had  once  lighted  a  refectory, 
for  the  subject  was  from  Scripture — the  Lord  entertained  by  the 
Pharisee. 

When  our  hero  had  admired  all  this  sufficiently  in  the  estima- 
tion of  his  young  cicerone,  she  opened  one  of  the  knopped  and  flow- 
ered oaken  doors,  and  preceded  him  into  a  dim,  secluded,  wain- 
scoted lobby,  lighted  by  an  oriel  of  stained  glass.  She  showed 
him  that  this  passage  communicated  both  with  the  hall,  and  with 
a  private  stair,  by  separate  doors  concealed  in  the  panelling. 

"  What  a  place  for  lovers  I  I  must  be  a  little  witch  at  heart, 
for  I  declare  I  never  pass  here  without  that  thought  popping  into 
my  head.  Can't  you  fancy  a  midnight  meeting  at  the  foot  of  that 
secret  stair,  Mr.  Alban,  or  a  stolen  kiss  by  day  in  one  of  these 
shadowy  corners  ?" 

18* 


210 


ALBAN. 


The  instant  these  words  had  passed  her  lips,  Mary  became 
scarlet,  and  tripping  away  to  a  door  in  a  deep  recess,  set  it  wide  open 
and  invited  her  student  friend  to  pass.  As  he  approached  she 
leaned  back  against  the  wainscot,  and  her  face  was  laid  hke  a  rosy 
cameo  against  the  dark  panel.  Alban  would  as  soon  have  dared 
strike  that  red  cheek  as  kiss  it,  and  the  picture  lasted  but  a  moment. 
She  whispered  "  Papa  I"  He  glanced  into  the  next  room  and  saw 
that  it  was  the  library,  where,  about  halfway  down,  Mr.  De  Groot 
was  reading  by  the  fire.  He  moved  on  therefore,  but  when  he 
looked  back  for  his  fair  guide,  she  made  a  graceful  obeisance  and 
closed  the  door  on  him. 

Although  our  pen  is  almost  weary  of  description,  we  cannot 
quite  pass  over  a  locale  so  celebrated  and  yet  so  inaccessible  as  Mr. 
De  Groot's  library.  It  was  a  room  at  least  twice  as  lofty  as  any 
of  those  Alban  had  seen,  except  the  gallery,  and  was  lined  to 
the  ceiling  with  glazed  bookcases  of  black  unpolished  walnut. 
The  ceiling  was  coved,  and  admitted  the  light  by  a  lantern  dome. 
There  was  also  one  high,  dim,  square,  muUioned  window  of  stained 
glass.  A  solid  gallery,  of  the  same  material  as  the  bookshelves,  ran 
round  the  room  about  midway  up.  The  white  vellum  and  other 
rich  old  bindings,  and  the  vast  number  of  fohos,  promised  well  for 
the  collection.  At  regular  intervals  round  the  lower  room,  in  wal- 
nut niches,  were  placed  busts  of  philosophers  and  founders  of  sects. 
Over  the  mantel  hung  a  beautiful  youthful  portrait  of  Dr.  C banning. 
The  book  tables  and  study  chairs  were  of  black  walnut,  and  the 
latter  had  cushions  of  dark  green  leather.  The  soft  light  from  the 
dome  produced  a  beautiful  effect  on  this  sober  and  scholastic  inte- 
rior, into  which  Alban  advanced  slowly,  and  at  first  unnoticed. 


ALBAN . 


211 


CHAPTER  III. 

Alb  AN  was  received  by  the  owner  of  this  magnificent  house  with 
the  appearance  of  perfect  cordiahty.  Mr.  De  Groot  inquired  par- 
ticularly how  he  had  liked  the  pictures,  and  made  him  specify 
which  he  had  preferred.  Every  thing  that  Alban  said  suggested 
some  striking  remark  on  the  part  of  his  entertainer.  The  Ariadne 
was  alluded  to. 

"  In  persons  unaccustomed  to  Art,"  said  Mr.  De  Groot,  "  there 
is  a  kind  of  susceptibility  which  compares  with  real  modesty  as  the 
liability  to  take  certain  infections  on  the  part  of  those  who  have 
never  been  exposed  to  them,  does  Avith  health.  Our  country- 
women have  a  great  deal  of  this.  The  purity  of  a  work  of  Art  does 
not  depend  on  its  being  draped  or  the  reverse.  There  are  draped 
representations  which  are  immoral,  and  there  are  nude  ones  which 
are  pure  as  new-fallen  snow.  I  don't  say  the  Ariadne  is  quite  one 
of  these.  The  motives  of  Correggio,  who  was  Vanderlyn's  master, 
were  not  of  the  highest  kind,  although  he  has  succeeded  in  invest- 
ing the  most  repulsive  subjects — the  Danae,  for  example — with  a 
haze  of  luminous  execution,  that  prevents  the  dazzled  eye  from  see- 
ing their  indelicacy.  The  2mde,  purely  treated,  blunts  curiosity, 
and  in  that  point  of  view  has  a  moral  utility." 

Alban  listened  with  interest. 

"  I  remember,"  continued  Mr.  De  Groot,  "  a  picture  of  Titian's, 
called  Sacred  and  Frofane  Love.  By  the  by  I  never  saw  a  true 
criticism  of  it  yet.  The  background  is  one  of  Titian's  noble  land- 
scapes, with  deep  blue  hills.  A  clump  of  brown  trees  divides  the 
distance,  on  one  side  of  which  is  seen  a  castle,  representing  the 
secular  Hfe,  and  on  the  other  a  convent,  or  the  life  of  religion.  In 
the  foreground  sits  a  young  lady  completely  attired  and  coilTed,  in 
the  mode  of  Titian's  time.  She  is  debating  between  Sacred  and 
Profane  Love — the  world  and  the  cloister.     Directly  in  front,  on 


212 


ALBAN. 


the  edge  of  a  fine  yellowish-white  sarcophagus,  sits  another  female 
figure,  entirely  nude,  except  a  crimson  drapery  just  falling  from 
her  shoulder,  and  against  which  her  elegant  form  is  defined  :  she 
regards  the  other  with  a  face  full  of  tenderness,  and  extending  one 
pure  arm,  lifts  on  high  a  burning  lamp  : — this  is  Sacred  Love. 
Imagine  the  sweetness  and  purity  of  color  and  outline  in  this 
sitting  figure,  with  its  innocent  nakedness  and  modest  candor  of 
attitude,  in,  contrast  to  that  modish  damsel,  clothed  to  her  finger 
tips  !  You  feel  at  once,  that  drapery  would  impair  its  spirituahty 
and  destroy  its  chastity.  What  ardor  in  the  action  of  the  pectoral 
muscles  sustaining  the  lifted  arm — what  modesty  in  the  close 
union  of  the  limbs  and  bend  of  the  knee — would  be  lost  !  Behind 
the  sarcophagus,  and  stooping  over  the  edge  to  gather  the  flowers 
■within  it,  is  a  Cupid,  nude  and  winged  boy — ProfaneLove.  Thus 
Profane  Love  gropes  in  a  sarcophagus  for  flowers — the  perishable 
ofispring  of  earth  ;  Sacred  Love  lifts  above  the  tomb  itself  a  flaming 
lamp — type  of  the  soul  and  immortality,  and  the  aspirations  that 
ascend  to  Heaven." 

"  Beautiful  I"  exclaimed  Albaa. 

Our  hero's  eye  had  often  rested  during  this  conversation  on  a 
low  desk  and  stool  near  the  fire.  The  desk  had  upon  it  an  open 
volume  in  black  letter  with  richly  illuminated  margins,  and  a 
lady's  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  A  manuscript  missal  on  vellum,"  said  Mr.  De  Groot,  fasten- 
ing his  dark  eyes  on  the  volume,  but  not  oflering  to  show  it. 
"  The  illuminations  are  not  in  the  highest  style  of  art.  I  will 
show  you  some  one  day,  that  I  am  really  proud  of.  I  am  glad 
you  have  a  taste  for  these  things.  I  often  think  what  will  become 
of  my  treasures  when  I  am  gone  and  Mary  is  married."  Mr.  De 
Groot  cast  a  jealous  glance  around  the  stately  book-chamber.  "A 
fellow,  for  example,  whom  I  would  not  willingly  let  peep  under 
the  covers  of  my  favorites,  how  could  I  bear  the  idea  of  his  being 
their  master  I" 

"It  is  to  be  hoped  that  Miss  De  Groot  will  take  a  fancy  to 
some  one  capable  of  appreciating  your  fine  collection,  sir." 


AL  B AN . 


213 


"What  profession  do  you  intend  to  follow,  Mr.  Atlierton  ?"  in- 
quired Mr.  De  Groot,  rather  sharply,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

Alban  was  undecided.  In  his  pious  days  he  had  looked  for- 
ward to  the  ministry.  Lately  he  had  thought  of  Law  and  Medi- 
cine, of  Literature  and  the  Army.  He  had  in  fact  a  hundred 
wild  ideas  in  regard  to  his  future  career. 

"  A  medical  education  will  do  you  no  hurt,"  said  Mr.  De 
Groot,  in  his  oracular  way.  "  All  knowledge  is  good.  But  as  a 
pursuit  it  would  leave  some  of  your  finest  faculties  unemployed. 
The  pulpit  offers  a  field  to  a  man  of  first-rate  organization," 
glancing  at  the  portrait  of  Channing — "  but  it  requires  too  great 
a  sacrifice  to  consecrated  prejudices  in  order  to  win  or  retain  the 
popular  approval.  The  Protestant  preacher,  however  superior  he 
may  be,  is  obliged  to  cede  as  much  as  the  Catholic,  to  the  tyranny 
of  his  sect,  without  having  the  comfort  of  believing  his  guide  in- 
fallible. Law  is  a  hard,  dry  pursuit,  but  it  will  give  you  inde- 
pendence. Then  with  us  the  forum  leads  to  the  senate.  Your 
grandfather  was  a  lawyer,  and  rose  by  his  own  abilities  from  a 
carpenter's  apprentice  to  be  President  of  Congress." 

"  My  paternal  grandfather,"  said  Alban. 

"  Hem  I  Your  maternal  grandfather  was  a  soldier.  He  got 
rank  because  he  was  rich  and  well-connected,  but  I  don't  remem- 
ber that  he  distinguished  himself  particularly.  A  conscientious, 
dependable  man,  and  the  confidential  friend  of  Washington  ;  but 
that  was  all  ?" 

"  I  believe  so." 

'*  Oh,  you  can  go  farther  back — if  that's  what  you  mean," 
said  Mr.  De  Groot,  with  a  dry  smile.  "  You  came  of  English 
squirearchs — armigeri  at  least.  Your  Puritan  ancestor,  who  fled 
to  New  England  from  Laud  and  the  pillory,  or  the  branding-iron, 
or  some  other  mild  argument  for  Episcopacy,  had  a  brother  who 
was  a  rattling  cavalier  and  a  captain  in  the  life-guard  of  Charles 
L  himself.  I  know  something,  you  see,  of  your  antecedents. 
Well,  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  follow  the  noble  profession  of 
arms,  if  you  have  a  leaning  thereto.    In  popular  states  a  success- 


214 


ALBAN . 


ful  general  will  step  up  before  all  the  orators  and  statesmen  in 
existence  into  the  seat  of  power.  We  shall  have  wars.  There 
will  be  opportunities  enow.  But  think  of  spending  the  best 
years  of  your  life  in  garrisons  and  frontier  forts,  and  perhaps 
dying  at  last  in  your  first  battle  without  any  kind  of  distinction, 
or  the  peculiar  usefulness  of  which  distinction  is  the  token.  In 
another  career  you  may  command  it." 

"  That  is  why  I  turn  to  literature  with  such  predilection," 
said  the  young  man,  greatly  excited  by  Mr.  De  Groot's  way  of 
talking. 

"  Letters,"  resumed  Mr.  De  Groot,  after  a  long  glance  around 
his  endless  book-shelves.,  "  are  a  pursuit  that  surpasses  every  other 
in  enjoyment,  and  nearly  every  other  in  dignity.  We  must  have 
our  own  literary  men.  We  can't  atlbrd  to  let  other  nations  write 
our  books  for  us.  That  were  vv'orse  than  the  policy  which  would 
hire  them  to  fight  our  battles.  There  is  a  thought  and  there  is  a 
sentiment  which  belongs  to  us,  and  which  we  are  in  a  manner 
bound  to  elicit.  But — I  am  sorry  to  interpose  so  many  buts, 
young  sir — you  are  to  consider  that  you  must  live.  You  cannot 
live  by  literature.  It  is  difficult  anywhere,  but  in  this  country  it 
is  impossible.  As  pride  distinguishes  the  Spaniard,  revenge  the 
Italian,  lust  the  Saxon,  and  sanguinary  violence  (they  say)  the 
Celt,  so  pecuniary  injustice  is  our  national  trait.  We  steal  the 
author's  right  in  every  book  we  publish,  native  or  foreign.  Now, 
Atherton,  you  can't  live  by  a  craft  where  people  hold  themselves 
at  liberty  to  steal  what  you  have  produced." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir,  to  give  me  all  this  advice,"  said 
Atherton,  sincerely. 

"  We  are  a  rich  people,"  pursued  Mr.  De  Groot.  "  A  virgin 
soil — the  untouched  mould  of  centuries — yields  us — fortunate  pro- 
prietors— its  overflowing  returns,  and  yet  we  are  mean  enough  to 
be  willing  to  enjoy  the  fruit  of  others'  labor  without  paying  for  it  : 
— and  who  are  those  others  ?  our  brethren,  whom  nature  distrib- 
uting the  faculties  and  inspiring  the  tendencies  of  men  according 
to  a  law  not  to  be  violated  with  impunity,  has  compelled  to  con- 


ALB AN . 


215 


struct  out  of  meditation  and  passion  through  the  divine  art  of 
language,  our  mental  habitations,  and  whom  we  are  not  ashamed 
to  compel  to  find  straw  as  well  as  brick,  and  to  rob  of  their  just 
wages.  It  is  a  thief's  mistake  to  suppose  that  we  derive  any 
benefit,  except  of  the  most  temporary  and  illusive  kind,  from  the 
cheapness  of  our  pirated  literature.  No  doubt  we  have  a  selfish 
pleasure  in  getting  something  for  nothing,  but  it  is  a  pleasure  which 
pollutes  and  degrades.  We  are  such  a  reading  people,  forsooth  I 
Yes  !  it  is  one  of  our  vices  :  for  the  endless  reading  of  cheap 
books  is  a  vice.  I  am  an  old  Knickerbocker — a  plain  Dutchman, 
not  sharp,  perhaps,  but  honest,  and  I  detest  (excuse  me,  Atherton) 
these  Yankee  notions  of  property.  I  thank  Heaven  I  am  pure  in 
this  matter.  I  can  look  round  these  walls  without  a  reproving 
conscience.  There  is  not  an  American  reprint  in  my  whole 
library.  No  poor  devil  of  an  author,  starving  in  a  garret,  while  I 
weep  over  his  pathos  or  smile  at  his  wit,  curses  me  over  my 
shoulder  with  his  spectre  face." 

I  give  up  authorship,"  said  Alban.  "I  think  it  must  be 
law  for  me." 

"  If  I  were  you  I  would  enter  myself  in  a  lawyer's  office  at 
once/'  replied  the  patroon.  "  Those  handy  octavos  in  tawny 
sheepskin  will  be  better  reading  for  you  than  illuminated  missals." 

Alban  confessed  that  this  was  probably  true  enough.  Mr.  De 
Groot  mused,  and  then  adverted  to  the  subject  of  his  daughter. 
She  was  very  young.  He  felt  bound  to  watch  over  the  formation 
of  her  friendships,  especially  with  persons  of  her  own  age  and 
another  sex. 

"  If  parents  were  not  proverbially  blind,"  he  said  with  a  smile, 
"it  would  be  strange  that  in  sending  my  daughter  to  visit  some 
old  friends  at  New  Haven,  the  possibility  of  her  forming  some  inti- 
macy that  I  might  not  approve  in  a  place  like  that,  never  occurred 
to  me.  When  I  told  her  at  parting  not  to  fall  in  love  with  any 
of  the  College  boys,  it  was  certainly  not  because  I  apprehended 
such  a  thing,  and  I  beheve  she  deemed  the  idea  quite  beneath 
her  dignity.    I  was  completely  taken  by  surprise,  therefore,  Mr. 


216 


A  L  B  A  N  . 


Atherton,  to  hear  from  her  in  a  letter  of  characteristic  frankness, 
that  the  conversation  of  a  '  distinguished'  member  of  the  Senior 
class  whom  she  thought  I  would  like,  had  unsettled  her  Unita- 
rianism.  I  went  to  New  Haven  express.  I  found  her,  as  you 
remember,  out  walking  with  you  on  a  Sunday  afternoon.  She 
had  also  accepted  your  escort  down  to  New  York.  I  confess 
I  was  more  annoyed  than  a  little,  although  I  saw  that  you  were 
not  an  ordinary  youth.  Perhaps  you  Mill  not  blame  me  for  over- 
hearing your  conversation  with  her  on  the  boat  yesterday — at  least 
enough  of  it  to  give  me  a  pretty  good  notion  ,of  your  character." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Alban,  who  had  blushed  during  this 
address. 

"  Let  it  suffice  that  I  was  convinced  by  it  that  you  would  be 
a  safe  friend  for  my  little  girl.  I  perceived,  Mr.  Atherton,  that  it 
was  really  friendship,  a  point  in  regard  to  which  I  was  at  first 
skeptical,"  said  Mr.  De  Groot. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  eagerly  interrupted  Alban,  "  that  I  have 
never  breathed  a  syllable  to  Miss  De  Groot  that  could  bear  any 
other  interpretation." 

"  Well,  all  I  ask  is,  that  you  will  avoid  the  delicate  ground  of 
religion  with  your  young  friend  as  much  as  possible.  Her  youth 
and  her  sex  alike  unfit  her  to  consider  such  questions  with  profit. 
I  have  imposed  the  same  condition  on  her.  I  hope  you  will  con- 
sent to  it  as  she  has." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Alban. 
I  suppose  Mary  did  not  take  you  over  the  chambers,"  pur- 
sued his  host.    "  Would  you  like  to  see  them  ?    To  one  who  has 
not  been  in  Europe  they  may  be  curious." 

Alban  would  have  preferred  to  look  over  the  library,  but  he 
assented  of  course  to  what  Mr.  De  Groot  proposed.  The  latter 
made  him  admire  the  great  staircase  on  the  side  of  the  hall,  with 
its  massive  oak-grained  balustrade,  its  broad  leisurely  flights,  the 
bronzes  which  sustained  the  lamps  at  the  landings.  They  reached 
the  corridor  of  the  chambers,  hung  in  its  whole  length  with  col- 
ored prints  and  drawings,  following  which  you  might  make  the 


ALBAN . 


217 


tour  of  Europe  without  missing  one  of  its  celebrated  sites  or  monu- 
ments. Then  through  room  after  room  in  which,  although  every- 
thing Avas  really  sumptuous  and  nothing  wanting,  yet  all  seemed 
simple,  Alban  admired  the  bath-rooms,  (the  Croton  had  not  yet 
rendered  this  luxury  familiar,)  where  hot  and  cold  water  was 
supplied  to  marble  basins  by  silver  cocks.  In  one  stately  chamber, 
with  dressing-rooms  attached,  and  separate  baths,  two  elegant 
couches  stood  side  by  side  under  the  same  canopy  of  blue  satin, 
and  veiled  in  clouds  of  embroidered  muslin. 

"  Mrs.  De  Groot's  room,"  remarked  his  host.  "  We  became 
accustomed  to  separate  beds  when  abroad,  and  now  we  prefer  it." 

The  last  room  which  Mr.  De  Groot  showed  our  hero  was 
somewhat  different  from  the  rest.  In  lieu  of  the  French  bed- 
steads and  silken  draperies  elsewhere  seen,  it  had  an  old-fashioned 
four-poster  of  old  mahogany,  almost  as  black  as  ebony,  with  cur- 
tains of  Indian  chintz.  The  rest  of  the  furniture  was  of  the  same 
style  and  date.  The  toilet-glass — placed  in  front  of  the  large, 
deeply-recessed  window — had  a  frame  of  silver,  with  sconces.  But 
a  more  interesting  object  was  an  antiquated  dieu,  or  kneeling 
desk,  supphed  with  sconces  matching  those  of  the  mirror,  and  a  mas- 
sive silver  crucifix.  The  room  had  an  air  of  occupation,  a  wood- 
fire  burning  on  the  hearth.  Over  the  mantel  hung  a  portrait — of 
whom  it  was  easy  for  Alban  to  divine  ; — a  beautiful  woman  in  a 
dress  of  dark  gray  cloth  falling  softly  over  a  figure  of  unusual  ele- 
gance, and  confined  at  the  waist  by  a  simple  cord  of  the  same 
sombre  hue.  In  her  finely-shaped  hand  she  held  a  common  black 
rosary.  Yet  it  was  not  a  nun  ;  for  her  raven  hair,  arranged  as 
Mary  De  Groot  always  wore  hers,  was  profuse  in  quantity.  The 
only  ornament  of  any  kind  upon  this  striking  and  noble  pictured 
personage  was  the  tiny  circle  of  gold  on  the  ring-finger  of  her  left 
hand. 

"  My  daughter's  taste,"  said  Mr.  De  Groot,  standing  on  the 
threshold  and  looking  at  the  portrait.  "  Perhaps  I  should 
not  have  shown  her  room.  Do  not  mention  that  you  have 
seen  it." 

19 


218 


ALBAN. 


The  basement  of  the  mansion  was  hke  another  house,  and  here, 
in  one  of  its  lofty,  sunny  parlors,  portrait-hung  and  of  domestic  as- 
pect, a  white-haired  negro — the  type  of  an  old  family  servant — was 
getting  luncheon  ready.  Here  Mary  De  Groot  was  again  found, 
sitting,  or  rather  half-recliniug,  in  a  red  Boston  rocking-chair,  with 
her  tiptoes  just  touching  the  carpet,  a  position  which  she  quitted 
when  the  gentlemen  entered.  And  here  was  also  a  lady  whom 
Alban,  by  the  resemblance  to  Ingham's  portrait,  knew  to  be  Mrs. 
De  Groot,  She  was  nearly  as  handsome  as  her  picture,  and  quite 
a§  handsomely  dressed.  A  robe  of  rich  shot  silk,  fitting  very,  very 
tight,  (for  the  figure  was  redundant,)  a  costly  lace  cape,  and  a 
delicate  coif  to  match,  made  an  imposing  drawing-room  lady. 
She  received  Alban  with  great  cordiality  of  manner,  accompanied 
by  the  warm  pressure  of  a  plump,  white  hand  sparkling  with 
rings. 

Are  you  not  a  nephew  of  the  late  E,ev.  Jonathan  Atherton  ? 
Delighted  to  see  you  I  Mary  has  been  telling  me  about  you. 
Your  uncle  was  inUrumental ,  Mr.  Atherton — but  you  understand 
ine.  Where  does  your  mother  live  ?  I  must  really  take  the  lib- 
erty of  calling  on  her  immediately  to  tell  her  how  much  I  loved 
Jier  brother,  and  also  to  congratulate  her  on  the  possession  of  such 
a  son." 


ALB AN. 


219 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  I  AM  afraid  you  have  given  up  reading  your  Bible,  Alby  ?"  said 
his  mother,  with  a  grieved  but  tender  look.  We  may  understand 
from  this  expression  that  Alban  had  been  making  his  mother  a 
confidant  of  his  religious  difficulties. 

*'  The  more  I  read  the  Bible  the  more  I  am  filled  with  doubt." 

"  You  must  not  consult  your  own  reason — but  look  to  Heaven 
for  light,"  said  his  mother. 

"  The  more  I  pray  the  mightier  are  rny  perplexities," 

"  It  is  a  trial  of  j'our  faith  ;  you  must  persist  in  reading  and 
praying,"  said  his  mother. 

"  But  what  can  I  do  with  such  a  passage  as  this  of  St.  Mat- 
thew ?"  said  Alban,  with  a  sort  of  irritation:  "  Tliat  it  might 
be  fid  filed  ichicJi  icris  spoke?i  of  tlie  Lord  by  the  iiroj^liet,  smjing, 
Out  of  Egypt  have  I  called  my  Son.  I  turn  to  the  prophecy 
referred  to  and  find  it  thus,  When  Israel  ivas  a  child  then  I  loved 
him,  and  ccdled  my  son  out  of  Egypt ;  referring,  as  the  context 
plainly  shows,  to  the  departure  of  the  Israelites  out  of  Egypt 
under  Moses  I  Such  were  the  arguments  of  the  Apostles  I  The 
dexterous  apjplication  of  the  words  of  an  ancient  Jewish  prophet, 
so  as  to  tally  with  some  real  or  supposed  event  in  the  life  of  Jesus, 
sufficed  to  produce  faith  in  their  credulous  hearers." 

"  You  shock  me,  Alban." 

"  Nay,  mother,  I  only  adduce  it  to  show  you  how  things  strike 
me  as  I  read  the  Bible  even  on  my  knees.  I  could  multiply  such 
instances  in  the  ISTew  Testament :  lie  shall  be  called  a.  Nazcirene  ; 
A  Virgin  shall  conceive  ;  A  bone  of  him  shall  not  be  broken  ;  or 
Peter's  argument  from  the  words  of  David,  Thoit  ivilt  not  suffer 
thy  holy  one  to  see  corruption.  All  fall  under  the  same  category. 
In  fact,  the  reasonings  of  our  Lord  Himself  with  the  Jews  are  open 
to  the  same  objection.    How  inconsequent  is  it  to  infer  the  resur- 


220 


ALBAN. 


rcction  of  the  body  from  the  words  I  am  the  God  of  Abraham, 
Isaac,  and  Jacob,  since  it  is  manifest  that  in  the  ordinary  use  of 
language  this  expression  need  mean  no  more  than  that  /  am  the 
God  u'hom  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob  icors]iip2:)ed  ichen  alive  I 
Just  so,"  continued  Alban,  waxing  warm,  "  of  our  Lord's  cele- 
brated question  which  silenced  the  Pharisees  : — The  Lord  said 
unto  my  Lord,  Sit  on  my  right  hand. — David  therefore  in 
spirit  calleth  Him  Lord,  how  is  lie  then  his  Son  ?  Whereas, 
if  the  Pharisees  had  understood  the  simplest  figures  of  rhetoric, 
they  would  have  answered,  that  although  David  may  have  been 
the  composer  of  the  psalm  in  question,  he  need  not  be  supposed  to 
speak  always  in  his  own  person.'"' 

"  You  must  put  such  thoughts  away  ;  they  are  suggestions  of 
Satan,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Why,  it  is  precisely  thus  that  Roman  Catholics  reason  from 
the  words  of  Christ  Himself  Why  does  not  This  is  my  Body 
prove  Transubstantiation,  as  they  say?" 

"  Because,  my  dear  Alban,"  said  his  mother,  impatiently,  "  that 
only  means  that  the  Bread  signifies  Christ's  Body." 

"  Ah  I  there  it  is.  That  is  all  it  need  mean,  and  the  same 
might  have  been  said  by  the  Sadducees  in  answer  to.  the  passage 
adduced  by  our  Lord  for  the  resurrection." 

"  But  Transubstantiation  is  an  absurdity,  Alban,"  cried  his 
mother,  quickly,  "  and  therefore  cannot  be  the  meaning  of  our 
Saviour." 

"  And  pray  what  is  the  resurrection  of  the  bodies  of  the  infinite 
myriads  of  men  since  the  world  began,  after  they  have  been  scat- 
tered to  the  four  winds,  and  dissolved  into  dust  and  gas  ?  And 
what  is  to  be  done  in  the  case  of  cannibals,  my  dear  mother  ?" 

"  The  power  of  God,  my  dear  Alban  I  You  don't  pretend  to 
limit  omnipotence,"  retorted  his  mother. 

"  No,  I  do  not  pretend  to  limit  it,"  replied  Alban,  with  a  slight 
smile  at  himself  for  getting  drawn  into  such  an  argument.  "  I 
only  spoke  because  I  craved  sympathy,  my  dear  mother.  Nobody 
understands  my  difficulties." 


AL  B  AN. 


221 


Mrs.  Atlierton  was  silent.  A  syllogism  is  pretty  much  lost  on 
a  woman,  but  she  feels  the  faintest  appeal  to  her  heart. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  told  me  your  difficulties,  Alby,"  she  said 
at  length.  "  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  you  were  afraid  or  unwilling 
to  confide  them  to  me.  I  dare  say  now  you've  relieved  your  mind, 
it  will  be  easier." 

"  There  are  things  in  the  Old  Testament  I  can't  get  over,  or 
get  round,"  resumed  her  son,  who  was  sitting  on  the  settee  with 
the  family  Bible  open  on  a  stand  before  him, — his  mother's  work- 
stand,  the  remainder  of  which  was  taken  up  with  the  etceteras  of 
her  plain  sewing.  "  For  instance,  the  history  of  Moses,  the  provi- 
dential circumstances  attending  his  birth  and  education,  the  ap- 
pearance of  God  to  him  in  a  bush,  the  miracles  by  which  he  is 
said  to  have  brought  out  his  twelve  tribes  from  the  land  of  bondage, 
the  wonderful  passage  of  the  Red  Sea,  the  manna  and  miraculous 
water  in  the  desert  : — all  to  usher  in  what  ?  The  giving  of  the 
Ten  precepts  of  the  Moral  Law  on  a  desert  mountain  to  this  camp 
of  fugitive  herdsmen  and  bricklayers  I  I  do  not  think  it  possible 
that  such  a  history,  with  such  a  finale,  could  have  been  imagined 
or  invented  by  mortal  man.  If  God  ever  took  out  a  people  for 
himself  out  of  another  people,  as  Moses  says,  with  signs  and  won- 
ders and  an  outstretched  arm,  it  must  have  been,  it  would  have 
been,  to  announce  such  a  code,  which  contains  the  essence  of  all 
religious  and  social  rules,  the  great  foundation-stones  of  the  primary 
duties,  stripped  of  all  extraneous  matter,  simplified,  methodically 
placed,  and  laid  firm  in  the  authority  of  the  Creator  Himself.  The 
history  of  the  Jews  ever  since  just  comes  in  as  a  proof  that  this 
view  of  the  transaction  is  no  flight  of  fancy.  The  Jews  are  a 
fact.    I  am  mre  that  God  spake  by  Moses  I'' 

"And  not  by  Jesus  Christ?"  inquired  his  mother.  "  Surely 
you  must  be  blind,  Alban." 

"  I  can  find  nothing  worthy  of  God  in  Christianity  as  it  has 
been  taught  me,  mother,"  replied  her  son,  sternly.  "  Forgive  me 
for  saying  so.  I  don't  mean  to  reflect  on  your  teaching.  I  speak 
of  what  is  current.    Justification  by  faith  and  this  new  heart, 


222 


ALBAN. 


seem  to  me  mere  baby-talk.  It  is  worse  than  that,  for  it  is  talk 
that  undermines  the  first  principles  of  morals.  I  see  it  theoreti- 
cally, and  I  have  experienced  it  practically,  and  I  have  done  Math 
it  for  ever." 

"  This  comes  of  New  Haven  divinity,"  said  his  mother,  tears 
running  down  her  pale,  delicate  cheek,  and  falling  on  the  shirt 
she  \vas  making  for  her  son. 

The  sound  of  wheels  was  heard  in  the  quiet  street,  and  ceased 
at  Mrs.  Atherton's  door.  The  bell  was  rung  with  a  jerk.  Mary 
Anne,  the  maid  of  all  work,  was  cleaning  her  knives.  You  could 
hear  her  in  the  kitchen  entry.  But  the  sound  instantly  ceased, 
while  the  girl  hastily  washed  her  hands  and  tied  on  a  clean  apron 
before  running  to  the  street-door,  which  she  would  be  sure  to  open, 
out  of  breath,  and  with  a  face  as  red  as  a  jieony.  Alban  observed 
that  it  was  the  De  Groots,  and  half  wished  a  fire  had  been  lit  in 
the  front  parlor  :  but  it  was  too  late  to  wish  it,  for  the  lady  visitors 
came  sailing  in  like  two  angels  fresh  from  Paris. 

Not  to  describe  Mrs.  De  Groot's  costume  would  be  to  omit 
her  almost  entirely.  She  was  nothing  apart  from  her  clothes, 
and  with  them  she  appeared  to  be  a  great  deal.  Her  large,  white 
velvet  hat  {Aiiglice,  bonnet)  and  its  drooping  plume,  the  long, 
starry  veil,  trailing  cashmere  of  Ind,  and  flounced  amethyst  silk, 
seemed,  as  they  spread  in  a  glory  of  shooting  iris  hues  and  snow 
over  the  chintz  settee,  to  look  Mrs.  Atherton's  modest  parlor  out 
of  countenance.  As  for  Mary,  she  appeared  to  have  caught  a 
light  from  her  mother's  eflulgence  of  fashion.  No  more  of  that 
charming  plainness  which  had  marked  her  at  New  Haven.  A 
great  bonnet  of  Mazarin  blue  silk  surrounded  her  lovely  face,  and 
a  cloak  and  robe  of  the  same  material  and  of  the  newest  fashion 
invested  her  form.  She  looked  surprisingly  larger  and  older,  and 
Alban  realized  that  she  had  grown  since  he  first  saw  her.  She 
was  so  wonderfully  easy,  too,  sat  with  such  a  careless  grace  in 
her  corner  of  the  settee,  her  neatly  shod  feet  playing  hide-and-go- 
seek  with  each  other,  for  the  robes  were  short  in  those  days,  and 
betrayed  the  white  stockings  and  morocco  slippers  neatly  cross- 


AL  B A  N . 


223 


laced  around  an  ankle  straight  and  fine.  Alban  introduced  the 
visitors  to  his  mother,  who  quietly  laid  aside,  but  did  not  put  out 
of  sight,  her  homely  work.  Mrs.  De  Groot  glanced  at  the  portrait 
of  the  clerical  uncle,  and  began  at  once  on  that  subject. 

It  soon  appeared  what  Mrs.  Da  Groot's  idea  of  our  hero  was, 
nor  was  it  unnatural.  Mary  had  truly  said  that  Alban's  conver- 
sation had  first  set  her  to  thinking,  which  had  ended,  as  Mrs.  De 
Groot  expressed  it,  in  her  abjuring  her  father's  shocking  opinions 
— so  far  a  great  triumph  for  Mrs.  De  Groot.  In  answer  to  her 
stepmother's  further  inquiries,  she  had  stated  that  Mr.  Atherton 
was  a  member  of  the  College  Clmrch,  reputed  very  pious,  emi- 
nently pure  and  irreproachable  in  morals,  &c.  Of  course  she  could 
say  nothing  about  Alban's  skepticism,  which  he  had  acknowledged 
to  her  in  confidence.  Moreover,  Mary  herself  believed  it  to  be 
but  a  temporary  perplexity,  natural  and  inevitable  in  a  thought- 
ful Protestant,  (the  child  already  begins  to  talk  in  that  way,)  and 
rather  to  be  approved  as  disposing  him  to  seek  a  better  faith, 
which  she  was  sanguine  he  would.  Mrs.  De  Groot,  therefore,  had 
really  formed  the  most  exalted  opinion  of  our  hero,  and  as  women 
generally  forestall  a  conclusion,  above  all  where  j'oung  marriage- 
able people  are  concerned,  she  considered  him  already  as  good  as 
a  son-in-law.  Nor  was  this  an  ill-founded  or  rash  opinion  ;  for 
both  parents  naturally  regarded  their  daughter  as  being  in  love, 
and  had  discussed  the  affair  in  that  point  of  view.  If  Mary 
should  marry  an  orthodox  Presbyterian — particularly  a  "  nephew 
of  ]\rr.  Atherton's," — really  Mrs.  De  Groot  had  not  expected 
any  thing  half  so  good.  Her  father  thought — but  hh  motives 
are  not  so  easily  fathomed  :  at  all  events  he  told  his  wife  that  he 
had  determined  to  let  things  "  take  their  course."  He  thought 
Atherton  was  a  conceited  puppy,  and  Mary  might  do  a  great  deal 
better,  and  she  might  also  do  a  great  deal  worse.  "  He's  as  poor 
as  Job's  turkey,"  he  concluded  ;  and  this  again  rather  pleased  Mrs. 
De  Groot,  who  liked  to  feel  herself  in  a  position  of  patronage  to- 
wards the  future  connections.  The  origin  and  past  of  the  Ather- 
tons  were  such  as  to  make  this  peculiarly  gratifying  to  Mary's 


224 


ALBAN. 


stepmother,  who  had  not  always  enjoyed  so  eminent  a  station  as 
at  present.  One  might  have  supposed,  to  hear  her  talk  to  Mrs, 
Atherton  about  her  brother,  that  she  had  been  in  a  situation  to 
patronize  her  minister  extensively,  in  the  days  of  which  she  spoke, 
but  the  fact  was,  that  only  her  "  interesting  state  of  mind"  had 
ever  obtained  his  notice.  Let  us  do  Mrs.  De  Groot  justice,  how- 
ever. We  believe  there  is  always  a  heart — seat  of  amiable 
weakness — under  the  tightest  silk  bodice  ever  held  by  hooks  and 
eyes.  In  those  days,  before  Mary  was  born,  or  Alban  either, 
when  that  heart  was  eighteen  years  old,  and  beat  in  a  maiden 
bosom,  she  had  loved  the  clerical  boy-face  whose  likeness  hung 
over  Mrs.  Atherton's  bright  sideboard.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Atherton 
never  dreamed  of  it,  and  soon  scattered  many  such  hopes  to  the 
wind  by  bringing  from  his  former  parish  in  the  country  a  beauti- 
ful, pious,  clever  creature,  to  fill  the  important  and  envied  sta- 
tion of  minister's  wife  :  and  now  a  nephew  of  whom  he  knew 
nothing,  reaped  a  benefit  from  his  unconscious  conquest. 

Meanwhile  the  young  people  conversed  separately. 

"  What  a  dear  home-like  home  you  have  got,  Mr.  Alban," 
said  Mary,  with  a  smile. 

"You  think  so  ?"  said  Alban,  looking  round. 

"  And  what  a  dear  gentle  mother  I  I  love  her  already." — 
With  a  blush,  and  in  a  whisper. — "  I  wonder  if  she  would  like 
to  have  me  come  and  read  to  her.    I  should  enjoy  it  so  much." 

"She  would  be  charmed,"  said  Alban,  with  a  gratified  look, 
yet  a  little  embarrassed  ;  for  he  had  not  Mary's  openness. 

"I  am  ashamed  to  admire  every  thing,"  said  she,  "but  really 
what  a  pretty  fire-screen  that  is  of  your  mother's.  Did  she  em- 
broider it  herself?  Oh,  I  wish  she  would  teach  me.  Of  all 
things  I  want  to  learn  to  embroider." 

"  Mother — " 

"  Oh,  don't,  Mr.  Alban—" 

"  Miss  De  Groot  wishes  you  to  teach  her  to  embroider — a  fire- 
screen. Miss  Mary?" 

"Not  precisely,  Mr.  Alban." 


ALB  AN. 


225 


"  Where  did  you  learn  to  work  so  beautifully,  Mrs.  Ather- 
ton  ?"  asked  Mrs.  De  Groot. 

"  At  Bethlehem,"  replied  Alban's  mother. 

"  What,  where  our  blessed  Saviour  was  born  I"  exclaimed 
Mary,  innocently. 

But  Bethlehem  was  a  celebrated  ISIoravian  school  in  Mrs 
Atherton's  girlhood.  The  conversation  turned  on  it.  Mrs.  Ath- 
erton  described  the  customs  of  Bethlehem  in  a  lively  manner,  with 
many  a  characteristic  New  England  turn  of  expression  and  accent, 
refined,  as  all  national  peculiarities  are  in  cultivated  women. 
Mary  listened  with  tears  of  delight  in  her  joyful  dark  eyes,  and  a 
vivid  blush  on  her  rich  cheek.  Mrs.  De  Groot  shrugged  her 
shoulders  at  the  Easter  processions,  white  robes,  and  lighted  tapers 
of  the  Moravians.  After  that,  the  call  terminated  by  Mrs.  De 
Groot  inviting  Mrs.  Atherton  with  her  son  and  husband  to  dinner 
the  next  day  to  meet  the  Rev.  Dr.  Fluent,  Mrs.  De  Groot's  pastor. 

"  You  were  reading  the  Bible  when  we  came  in  ?"  said  Mary, 
glancing,  as  she  rose,  at  the  sacred  volume  still  open  on  the  work- 
stand.  She  smiled  and  hesitated. — "  I  suppose  I  may  ask  how 
you  get  on,  Mr.  Alban  ?" 

"  I  have  got  so  far  as  to  believe  in  Moses,"  replied  the  young 
man,  remembering  his  promise  to  her  father. 

"  Moses  I"  said  Mary,  curiously. 

"  Exactly,"  said  Alban,  smiUng.  "  You  are  going  to  turn 
Roman  Catholic,  Miss  Mary.  I  may  perhaps  be  forced  to  em- 
brace a  faith  yet  more  ancient,  and  become  a  Jew." 

"  Christians,"  Mrs.  De  Groot  was  saying  to  Mrs.  Atherton, 
"  should  maintain  a  closer  intercourse.  In  future,  I  trust  it  will 
be  so  with  us." 

"  We  shan't  keep  up  much  intercourse  with  Infidels  and  Jews, 
I  hope,"  said  Mary,  aside,  with,  a  flash  of  the  old  haughtiness. 

"  I  shall  follow  my  convictions,"  returned  the  young  man  in 
the  same  tone,  "  even  if  they  lead  me  to  the  Synagogue." 

"  Well,  don't  ask  me  to  be  present  at  the  ceremony  of  your 
reception — .that's  all  !"   cried  the  young  lady,  turning  away  to 


226 


ALBAN. 


follow  her  stepmother  out  of  the  room.    She  came  back,  quite 
scarlet,  to  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Athertou,  but  did  not  salute 
Albaii  at  all.    He  conducted  them  to  the  carriage,  but  she  never 
looked  back,  and  sprang  in  without  touching  his  olfered  hand. 
"  People  will  treat  you  so,  one  day." 

Havnig  picked  up  her  mulF,  which  she  seemed  to  have  knocked 
purposely  off  the  seat,  as  she  raised  herself  with  a  countenance 
still  brightly  tinged,  she  answered  to  her  mother's  evident  horror- — 

"You  read  the  Bible  too  much,  Mr.  Alban.  That  is  not  the 
way  to  find  out  the  truth,  but  to  become  an  infidel,  a  heretic,  and 
an  apostate.  Oh,  Mr.  Alban,  I  hope  you  will  never  be  an  apos- 
tate 1" 

"Did  you  ever  I"  exclaimed  Mrs.  De  Groot. 

"  Miss  De  Groot  means  that  we  cannot  hope  to  understand  the 
Scriptures  wilhout  the  light  of  faith,"  said  Alban. 

"  Yes,  the  faith  of  the  Church,"  said  Mary. 

"  Well,  I  concede  that,"  replied  Alban:  "but  you  must  let  me 
search  till  I  find  the  true  Church." 

She  extended  her  hand  frankly,  and  pressed  his  with  a  free- 
dom unusual  to  her. — "  I  shall  pray  for  you,"  she  said. 

"  Do  come  to  see  us  often,"  said  Mrs.  De  Groot,  as  he  bowed 
himself  away. 

Our  hero's  aberration  seems  at  present  grievous  indeed.  How 
he  will  get  out  of  this  scrape  is  more  than  we  undertake  to  answer 
for.  We  shan't  have  recourse  to  a  miracle  to  open  his  eyes.  He 
has  Moses  and  the  Prophets,  and  to  them  he  has  appealed  :  by 
them  he  must  be  taught,  if  at  all.  As  ceremonies — next  to  cos- 
tumes— are  allowed  to  be  our  forte,  the  reader  must  not  be  sur- 
prised if  we  have  presently  to  describe  that  of  our  hero's  circum- 
cision. We  engage  to  do  it  with  the  most  perfect  delicacy,  and 
meanwhile  must  accompany  him  to  a  scene  which  certainly  looks 
that  way. 

In  the  afternoon  Alban  dressed  himself  in  his  new  clothes, 
just  sent  home  from  the  tailor's.  In  puLn[)S  and  tights,  and  an 
embroidered  waistcoat,  his  own  mother  would  scarcely  know  her 


ALB AN . 


227 


son.  He  throws  the  new  Spanish  cloak  gracefully  over  one 
shoulder,  and  enters  a  hackney-coach. 

It  rolled  slowly  down  Greenwich-street,  entered  State-street, 
while  the  waters  of  the  chilly  bay  still  gleamed  with  the  dull  red 
of  the  Western  sky,  and  stopped  before  a  large  irregular  house, 
following  the  curve  of  the  street,  with  a  deep  balcony-portico, 
and  while  marble  steps.  It  was  in  this  mansion — once  his  father's 
— that  our  hero  was  born,  and  it  was  one  of  the  homes  of  his 
childhood.  The  door-plate  now  bears,  simply  "  Seixas."  A 
servant  of  pecuHar  physiognomy  admits  him,  and  asking  "  Mishter 
Atherton  admits  him  into  a  drawing-room,  around  which  he 
throws  a  glance  of  curiosity. 

On  a  yellow  satin  divan,  extending  the  whole  length  of  the 
room,  on  the  side  opposite  the  door  and  old-fashioned  chimney,  re- 
clined a  man  in  the  prime  of  life.  His  waistcoat  was  finer  than. 
Alban's,  and  a  mass  of  brilliants  glittered  on  his  bosom  like  a  star. 
He  had  gentle  black  eyes,  black  pencilled  eyebrows,  jet  curls,  and 
beard,  fringing  fine,  but  characteristic  features.  He  was  lion- 
chested  and  narrow-hipped,  but  stooped  slightly  in  the  shoulders. 

"  The  salutation  of  peace,"  said  he,  smiling,  as  he  sprang  up, 
and  took  Atherton's  hand.  "  You  are  in  good  time.  We  will 
order  dinner  at  once,  that  we  may  discuss  it  at  our  leisure,  since 
we  are  going  to  the  Opera  afterwards.  I  am  sorry  that  Mrs. 
Seixas  cannot  appear,  but  my  sister  will  play  hostess  in  her 
stead. — Miriam  I" 

The  place  of  the  folding-door — between  white  Corinthian 
columns — was  hung  with  a  crimson  velvet  curtain  looped  up  with 
a  cord  and  heavy  tassel  of  gold  bullion.  At  the  call  of  Mr.  Seixas 
a  young  lady  presented  herself  beneath  this  rich  drapery.  She 
was  apparently  a  year  or  two  younger  than  Alban,  tall,  elegantly 
formed,  and  perfectly  beautiful,  although  in  a  very  peculiar  style. 
What  Alban  first  noticed,  however,  was  her  garb,  which  was 
dificrent  from  the  fashion  of  the  day.  It  was  a  light  green  bro- 
cade of  India,  the  gold  pattern  predominating  so  as  almost  to  hide 
the  ground,  and  fitting  closely  to  the  shape  to  the  lowest  point  of 


228 


ALBAN. 


the  natural  waist.  The  neck  was  cut  in  an  indescribable  curve, 
to  uncover  just  so  much  of  the  bust  as  was  beautiful  to  show 
without  any  immodesty,  and  the  short  loose  sleeves  were  looped 
over  gems  upon  each  polished  shoulder.  For  the  lady's  figure, 
notwithstanding  her  manifest  youth,  Was  the  deep-breasted," uni- 
versally-undulating beauty  of  the  Orient.  Her  hair — purple 
black — was  in  plain  bands,  without  a  single  ringlet,  secured  by  a 
gold  comb,  from  which  a  white  lace  veil  fell  nearly  to  her  feet. 
And  she  bore  a  jewelled  fan.  Her  face  must  be  imagined  ;  it 
was  on  the  softest  Jewish  model,  and  of  a  rich  golden  paleness. 
Never  were  seen  such  long,  long-eye-lashed  black  eyes,  liquid  in 
their  glance,  yet  virginal  and  calm.  Alban  had  never  felt  so  sud- 
den and  vivid  an  admiration  for  one  of  her  sex  before.  He  had 
heard  of  love  at  first  sight,  and  now  he  experienced  it. 


ALBAN . 


229 


CHAPTER  V. 

We  must  retrace  our  steps  a  little,  and  as  the  way  our  hero  is 
goiiin:  oil  does  not  please  us,  turn  our  attention  to  the  more  inter- 
esting course  of  Mary  De  Groot, 

We  take  her,  then,  on  the  first  day  after  her  return  home,  at 
the  hour  between  luncheon  and  dinner,  when  Alban,  having  con- 
cluded l]is  long  call,  had  left  the  house.  It  is  a  beautiful  afternoon, 
she  dons  her  Broadway  walking  gear,  and  in  the  accustomed 
liberty  of  a  young  New  York  lady,  sallies  forth  alone  for  a  walk. 

yhe  proceeded  down  the  Avenue  towards  Washington  Square 
— then  an  almost  naked  rectangle.  There  were  no  churches  on 
the  Fifth  Avenue  or  near  it,  where  now  so  many  cluster.  There 
were  none  on  the  Square,  nor  had  the  white  marble  turrets  of  the 
University  yet  risen,  nor  did  its  chapel  window  glimmer  through 
trees.  She  turned  into  Broadway  and  walked  down  one  or  two 
squares.  There  was  a  church  on  the  corner  ;  a  Gothic  church  of 
gray  rough  stone,  flanked  by  grim  towers.  The  ways  of  New 
York  were  then  simpler  than  now,  and  Broadway  "  so  high  up" 
as  Houston  was  quiet  in  a  way  that  cannot  now  be  imagined. 
Mary  stopped  at  the  iron  railing  and  gave  a  wistful  glance  to  the 
stern  church  frant.  Usually  an  inscription  tells  to  what  faith  the 
edifice  is  dedicated,  but  here  was  none. 

"I  see  no  cross  on  the  gable-peak.  And  if  it  were  a  Catholic 
church  I  guess  there  would  be  images  of  saints  in  the  niches.  I 
bet  any  thing  it  is  Episcopal." 

Good  reasoning  in  '35,  but  it  would  not  serve  in  '51.  A  cross 
on  a  gable  is  no  more  a  safe  guide,  nor  yet  a  marble  saint  looking 
down  from  the  niche  of  a  medieval  tower.  We  do  not  say  that 
there  is  not  yet  a  physiognomy  by  which  the  pinchbeck  religion, 
that  takes  so  with  our  fashionables,  may  be  detected  even  at  first 
sight,  and  distinguished  from  the  faith  it  imitates, 

520 


230 


A  L  B  A  N  . 


Our  young  friend  might  have  consulted  a  directory,  but  she 
forgot  there  was  such  a  thing,  or  she  might  have  asked  one  of  her 
father's  Irish  servants,  if  she  had  not  been  restrained  by  a  feehng 
of  dehcacy.  She  thought  of  inquiring  in  a  shop,  or  of  sorne 
passer-by,  for  the  nearest  Catholic  church,  and  then  again  an  in- 
vincible timidity  prevented  her.  She  began  to  reflect.  The 
Catholics  Avere  poor — foreigners — Irish — were  they  not  ?  Their 
churches  M'ere  not  to  be  looked  for  in  Broadway,  but  in  some 
obscure  district.  Mary  had  an  idea  that  such  a  region  lay  on  the 
east  of  Broadway,  but  she  had  a  fear  of  wandering  in  that 
direction.  It  was  a  terra  incognita  to  the  young  Knickerbocker, 
and  contained,  she  knew,  some  dreadful  places  where  a  modest 
girl's  foot  could  not  pass  without  danger.  And  yet  surely  it  was 
safe  so  high  up.  Lafayette  Place  was  east  of  Broadway  ;  so 
was  Bond-street.  She  had  friends  living  in  both  ;  they  were 
fashionable  streets.  From  Bond  to  Houston,  on  the  corner  of 
which  she  stood,  was  only  two  squares  ;  she  would  venture  to 
walk  a  little  way  down  Houston-street,  east. 

Indeed,  it  was  rather  a  nice  street ;  a  stable  in  the  first  "  block," 
but  that  was  common  in  cross  streets.  At  the  first  corner  she 
stops,  and  looks  up  and  down  Crosby.  She  sees  uo  church,  but 
the  High  School,  and  troops  of  boys  (for  it  is  just  three  p.  m.) 
running  and  shouting.  She  has  a  mind  to  retreat,  but  they  are 
only  boys,  and  she  crosses  Crosby  and  boldly  pushes  forward  to 
the  next  corner. 

What  sees  she  ?  Not  the  great  silver  door-plate  of  St.  Catha- 
rine's Convent  of  the  Sisters  of  Mercy,  (for  neither  Convent  nor 
Institution  yet  existed.)  but  on  the  lower  corner  of  the  opposite 
square  in  Mulberry,  in  a  walled  churchyard,  she  saw  the  rear 
gable  of  a  Gothic  edifice.  It  was  of  stone,  plain  and  high,  but 
faced  below  by  a  wooden  lean-to  of  octagon  shape,  with  a  wooden 
porch  and  steps.  The  body  of  the  church  was  hidden  by  the 
houses  in  Mulberry-street,  but  over  the  roofline  of  the  latter 
rose  a  nondescript  wooden  steeple,  or  pinnacle,  surmounted  by  a 
great  gilt  cross.    The  sign  of  salvation,  glitternig  in  the  afternoon 


AL  B  AN 


231 


Sim  which  smote  the  roof  and  upper  portion  of  the  church,  ex- 
tended its  arms  briofhtly  and  boldly  a,2:aiiist  the  blue  sky. 

So  Mary  turned  into  Mulberry-street  and  walked  slowly  down 
the  square,  looking  at  the  church  and  its  lofty,  glittering  cross. 

"  How  impossible  to  mistake  it  !"  she  thought.  "  I  need  no 
one  to  tell  me  thai  this  is  one  of  the  homes  of  our  mother — sancfa 
mater  ecclesia — humble,  yet  exalted  in  the  eyes  of  her  God. 
Surely  an  angel  guided  my  steps." 

A  man  in  a  long  surtout  came  out  of  Prince-street  and 
crossed  Mulberry  in  front  of  her.  He  turned  into  Mulberry, 
walked  rapidly  along  the  church-yard  wall  to  the  back  entrance  of 
the  cathedral,  ascended  the  wooden  steps,  and  disappeared  in  the 
porch. 

The  steps  M'ere  shackling  and  creaked  under  Mary's  light  foot. 
The  outer  door  of  the  hurricane  porch  (as  it  is  called)  was  closed 
by  a  pulley.  The  inner  one  was  heavy,  but  yielded  to  a  resolute 
push,  and  she  found  herself  in  a  small  chapel.  The  first  object 
that  struck  her  eye  was  a  wooden  Baptismal  Font  against  the 
wall.  At  the  altar  end  of  the  chapel  was  a  door  that  stood  ajar. 
Seeing  no  one,  she  proceeded  thither  and  tapped.  No  answer  ; 
and  she  ventured  to  push  the  door  open,  and  then  to  enter.  It 
was  a  carpeted  room  with  a  fire.  It  contained  some  large  ward- 
robes, as  they  seemed,  of  dark  wood,  a  crucifix  against  the  wall, 
and  a  confessional  in  a  corner.  Then  she  knew  that  it  was  a 
place  where  women  might  come.  Father  Smith  and  the  New 
Hav^en  sacristy  recurred  to  her  mind.  Next  she  perceived  another 
door  which  she  knew  must  lead  into  the  body  of  the  church  ;  but 
as  the  adventurous  young  girl  approached  to  try  it,  it  opened  and 
the  man  in  the  long  surtout  appeared.  His  face,  now  that  she 
saw  him  uncovered,  gave  her  a  great  surprise  :  it  was  the  New 
Haven  missionary. 

"  Father  Smith,"  she  joyfully  exclaimed. 

The  priest  did  not  remember  Mary,  and  intimated  as  much  with 
great  courtesy.  She  reminded  him  of  his  third  mass  on  Christmas 
Day. 


232 


AL  B  AN. 


"  Ah,  it  is  the  young  New  Haven  convert,"  said  the  missionary. 
"  I  should  not  have  known  you  had  not  you  spoken  first,  my  young 
lady.  So  you  have  come  to  New  York.  I  suppose  you  have  been 
received  into  the  Church." 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  waiting  a  month  as  you  directed  me,  studying 
my  catechism  and  other  books." 

"  You  have  seen  no  clergyman  here  then  ?" 

*'  "VYe  arrived  from  New  Haven  but  yesterday." 

"  You  had  better  see  the  Bishop  or  the  Vicar  General.  I  sup- 
pose you  are  in  the  cathedral  parish." 

"  Whatever  you  tell  me,  Father  Smith,  I  will  do." 

"  I  was  just  going  to  call  on  the  Bishop,  I  will  mention  your 
case  to  him.    What  is  your  name,  my  dear  young  lady  ?" 

He  took  down  her  name,  age,  and  place  of  abode. 

"  Go  into  the  church  and  say  your  prayers,"  said  the  missionary, 
*'  while  I  see  the  Bishop.  In  a  short  time  I  will  bring  or  send  you 
word." 

At  present  the  cathedral  extends  back  to  Mulberry-street,  and 
the  lean-to  chapel  no  longer  exists.  The  space  thus  gained  affords 
a  deep  and  spacious  sanctuary  ;  but  at  that  time  the  sanctuary  was 
miserably  contracted,  and  the  pews  were  pushed  to  the  very  rails. 
Mary  found  the  church  empty,  and  most  of  the  pews  locked.  She 
discovered  at  last  one  that  was  open,  and  entering,  placed  herself 
gladly  on  her  knees.  This  cathedral  was  very  unlike  those  beau- 
tiful Flemish  interiors  in  her  father's  gallery  from  which  she  had 
drawn  her  principal  notion  of  a  Catholic  church.  Over  the  altar 
was  a  painted  perspective  that  carried  the  church  back  like  a  deep 
choir,  closed  by  a  calvary.  If  this  did  not  please  our  young  friend's 
refined  taste,  it  did  not  long  arrest  her  attention,  caught  by  a  reality 
which  makes  us  forget  all  outward  tawdriness,  all  poverty.  A  lamp 
hung  burning  in  the  empty  church  before  the  tabernacle,  and 
Mary  now  knew  what  that  meant.  The  thought  of  that  heavenly 
presence  had  not  occurred  to  her  before.  She  put  down  her  head 
and  adored.  So  low,  however,  was  then  the  tone  of  Catholic  feel- 
ing, (to  borrow  a  phrase  from  a  recent  sect-movement,)  or  so  great 


ALBAN . 


233 


the  poverty  of  Catholics  in  New  York,  that  there  was  nothing  else 
in  the  church  to  excite  either  interest  or  devotion — not  even  a  pic- 
ture of  our  Lady.  But  the  young-  convert  drew  from  her  bosom  her 
mother's  rosary  and  began  to  say  her  beads.  She  was  just  finish- 
ing the  "  Sorrowful  Mysteries,"  with  her  eye  fixed  on  the  calvary, 
when  the  sacristy  door  opened,  and  a  female  came  out  attired  in 
deep  black — as  one  might  fancy  a  Quakeress  in  mourning.  As 
soon  as  her  eye  rested  on  Miss  De  Groot  she  came  forward.  In 
passing  before  the  altar  this  dark-robed  person  turned  and  sank  on 
one  knee.  She  uttered  Mary's  name,  and  receiving  a  word  of 
assent,  with  a  look  and  tone  of  sweet  courtesy  invited  her  to  come 
to  the  sacristy.  Trembling,  though  glad,  Mary  followed  her  dark- 
stoled  guide,  who,  as  they  went  before  the  altar  again,  again  bent 
the  knee  to  the  earth.  Mary  followed  her  example,  for  she  was 
not  ignorant  why  it  was  done.  Her  new  companion  made  her  sit 
by  the  sacristy  fire.    They  were  alone. 

"You  desire  baptism,  Miss  De  Groot?"  inquired  the  dark- 
habited  lady,  with  a  glance  that  habitually,  it  would  seem,  sought 
the  ground. 

"  I  do,"  replied  Mary,  fastening  her  earnest  eyes  on  the  face  of 
the  questioner. 

"You  are  sure  you  were  never  baptized  ?" 
"  I  have  always  been  told  so." 

"  I  suppose  you  can  say  the  Creed,  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the  Hail 
Mary,  the  Commandments,  and  the  ConfiteorT 

Mary  answered  like  a  little  girl,  by  reciting  each  formulary  as 
it  was  named.  The  Sister  smiled,  and  asked  how  many  sacra- 
ments there  were,  whether  all  the  seven  were  instituted  by  Jesus 
Christ,  and  how  that  was  proved  from  Scripture.  Mary  recited  the 
texts. 

"  As  you  have  been  bred  a  Protestant,  I  suppose  you  are  very 
familiar  with  the  Scriptures?"  said  the  Sister. 

"  0  dear,  yes  I  I  know  the  greater  part  of  the  Bible  almost  by 
heart." 

"  That's  more  than  I  do,"  answered  the  Sister,  smiling.    "  Was 

20* 


234 


ALB AN. 


it  in  the  perusal  of  the  Scriptures,  Miss  De  Groot,  that  you  became 
convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  Cathohc  rehgion  ?" 
"  0  no,  indeed  I" 

"  Well  I  think  that  without  the  lamp  of  faith  the  sacred 
volume  must  be  a  labyrinth  to  the  inquirer,"  said  the  Sister,  look- 
ing up  Avith  a  bright  intelligence,  but  immediately  withdrawing 
her  glance.     "  Whence  do  you  obtain  faith,  Miss  De  Groot?" 

"  From  the  Church,"  said  Mary. 

"  What  is  the  Church  ?" 

"  The  society  of  the  faithful  under  legitimate  pastors,"  respond- 
ed the  catechumen,  following  her  catechism. 

"  Then  from  what  part  of  the  Church  do  you  obtain  faith  ?" 
"  From  the  pastors." — "  Right,  Faith  cometh  hy  hearing  ;  and 
hoiv  shall  they  liear  ivithout  a  preacher  ?  And  hoiv  shall  they 
preach  unless  they  be  se?it  ?  What  is  not  proposed  to  us  to  be- 
lieve by  an  authority  appointed  by  God,  and  secured  from  error  by 
His  promise,  can  never  be  the  object  of  faith.  Hence  we  Catho- 
lics say  and  prove  that  Protestants,  so  far  as  they  are  such,  can 
have  no  faith,  but  only  opinion.  However,  the  grace  to  believe 
what  the  Church  teaches — whence  comes  it?" — "From  God 
alone." — "  Right  again.  And  by  what  means  do  we  obtain  it 
from  God  ?" — "  By  prayer  and  the  sacraments." — "  Right.  By 
the  sacrament  of  baptism  more  particularly.  For  though  none 
but  believers  are  to  be  baptized,  the  sacrament  infuses  the  habit 
of  faith,  which  before  was  only  a  precarious  act.  Yoti  believe, 
but  you  have  in  a  manner  no  right  to  faith,  and  except  in  virtue 
of  the  sacrament  you  cannot  retain  faith." 

The  Sister  of  Charity  had  a  pleasant  face,  though  not  beautiful. 
Her  complexion  had  that  peculiar  brilhancy  which  is  so  often  seen 
under  the  veil  of  the  Virgins  of  the  Church.  Her  eyes,  as  we  have 
said,  were  habitually  downcast,  yet  with  an  occasional  glance  of 
singular  penetration.  Her  manner  was  refined,  her  voice  sweet, 
the  accent  slightly  foreign  : — it  might  be  French  or  the  high  Irish, 
which  is  the  most  pleasing  and  thorough-bred  in  the  world.  She 
touched  the  rosary  which  hung  at  her  girdle. — "  You  know  what 


AL  B AN . 


235 


this  is  ?  And  how  to  use  it  ?  Oh,  you  say  the  beads  daily,  do 
you?"  She-  regarded  Mary  with  an  expression  of  great  tender- 
ness, which,  however,  she  immediately  checked.  "  It  would  be  a 
sin,"  she  continued,  "  to  keep  you  from  baptism.  Father  Smith 
mentioned  that  you  had  no  Catholic  friends.  Should  it  be  neces- 
sary I  would  present  you  at  the  font,  although  it  is  against  our 
rules." 

Mary  gently  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  The  Bishop  has  requested  Father  Smith  to  receive  you  as  soon 
as  he  finds  you  prepared,"  added  the  Sister.  "  But  here  comes  the 
good  father  himself" — Father  Smith  entered. — "  She  knows  her 
catechism,  father.  Her  faith  is  rational  as  well  as  firm,  and  she 
prays,  above  all." 

"  Have  you  a  great  desire  for  baptism  ?"  inquired  the  priest, 
standing  by  the  fire,  and  looking  down  upon  her  tranquilly.  "  1  de- 
sire it,"  replied  Mary,  in  tears,  "  more  than  any  thing  else  in  the 
world." 

"  Why  do  you  ?" 

Mary  looked  up. — *'  Because  unless  we  are  born  of  tvater  and 
the  Holy  Ghost  we  cannot  enter  the  Jcingdom  of  God.'' 

"  You  are  then  formally  a  postulant  for  salvation — "  glancing 
from  her  to  the  Sister.  "  We  cannot  refuse  you  what  you  ask. 
God  would  require  your  soul  at  our  hands." 

He  inquired  about  her  father.  Mary  frankly  stated  that  her 
father  knew  and  strongly  disapproved  her  intention  of  becoming  a 
Cathohc,  that  she  believed  he  would  absolutely  refuse  his  consent 
to  her  being  baptized,  and  that  she  would  prefer  not  to  ask  it. 
When  it  was  done,  and  could  not  be  undone,  she  meant  to  tell  him 
at  once,  and  did  not  doubt  to  obtain  his  forgiveness.  The  mission- 
ary sat  down  and  questioned  her  on  the  nature  of  the  sacrament 
she  was  about  to  receive,  but  rather  in  the  way  of  instruction  than 
to  elicit  her  knowledge. 

Did  she  understand  why  she  needed  baptism  at  all  ?  He  asked 
because  it  was  an  error  of  the  sect  in  which  she  had  been  bred,  to 
suppose  that  the  human  being  was  born  innocent. 


236 


ALB  A  N. 


"  Your  soul  \vas  created  by  God,  and  you  may  say  that  it 
came  pure  and  good  from  the  hands  of  its  Creator  ;  but  that 
which  is  born  of  the  flesh  is  flesh.  Child  of  Adam,  you  did  not 
receive  at  the  moment  of  your  conception  that  which  is  the  com- 
plement of  a  moral  creature,  the  divine  life  of  grace.  Naked 
and  stripped  of  original  justice  and  sanctity  you  M-ere  born  ;  and 
hence,  ignorant  of  God,  perverse  in  will,  weak  in  virtue,  a  captive 
to  the  desires  of  the  flesh  and  fleshly  mind,  a  seeker  of  pleasure  and 
transitory  good  :  Avhich  is  concupiscence.  Humiliating  as  this 
fact  is,  it  is  true  ;  and  up  to  this  date  you  have  done  nothing,  nor 
can  you  ever  do  any  thing,  to  merit  that  God  should  bestow  upon 
you  the  grace  which  in  a  moment  can  eflace  it  all.  If  you  had 
died  in  infancy  or  in  youth,  while  yet  unconscious  of  this  misery, 
you  could  never  have  seen  God  ;  and  if  old  enough  to  have  com- 
mitted actual  sins,  you  must  have  endured  for  ever  their  punish- 
ment, according  to  the  greatness  of  their  demerit.  Now  then  you 
see  why  you  need  baptism.  It  is  the  womb  of  a  new  birth,  where- 
in that  which  was  born  of  Adam  may  be  born  again  of  Christ,  and 
the  soul  united  to  sinful  flesh  may  receive  its  true  life — the  Holy 
Spirit  which  Adam  forfeited." 

To  this  the  young  lady  listened  with  an  air  of  quiet  assent  and 
pious  interest. 

Did  she  understand,  then,  pursued  the  missionary,  with  delib- 
eration, that  in  baptism,  provided  she  received  it  with  suitable 
dispositions,  all  the  sins  of  her  past  life  Avould  be  entirely  washed 
away,  together  with  that  sin  in  which  she  had  been  conceived — 
the  original  defect  and  guilt  of  her  human  nature — so  that  she 
would  become  in  an  instant  perfectly  pure  and  holy,  and  if  she 
were  to  die  that  moment,  would  go  immediately  to  heaven,  and 
see  God  eternally  as  he  is,  by  the  sole  merit  of  faith  ;  God,  that 
is,  crowning  his  own  free  gift  by  a  free  and  infinite  reward  ?  Did 
she  understand  this  ? 

"  I  understand  it,"  said  Mary,  tremulously. 

Did  she  understand,  moreover,  that  this  sacrament,  thus 
worthily  received,  (for  that  was  a  condition,)  would  change  her  in 


ALBAN. 


237 


an  instant  from  a  child  of  wrath  into  a  child  of  grace,  infuse  into 
her  soul  the  justice  of  God,  (that,  namely,  whereby  He  makes  us 
inwardly  and  truly  just,)  illuminate  it  by  His  light,  inflame  it  with 
His  charity,  implanting  the  habit  of  all  virtues  ;  that  her  very 
body  would  become  the  temple  of  God,  her  members  the  limbs 
and  members  of  Christ  the  Incarnate  Son,  the  same  Spirit  inhabit- 
ing her  mortal  frame  and  talking  possession  of  the  interior  recesses 
of  her  heart,  which  dwelt  in  and  quickened,  sanctified  and  united 
to  the  person  of  the  Word,  the  adorable  Humanity  of  the  Son  of 
God? 

"The  Holy  Trinity  will  come  and  dwell  with  you  :  do  you 
understand  that  ?"  demanded  the  priest. 
"  Yes,"  murmured  the  catechumen. 

Did  she  also  know — the  priest's  voice  lowered  a  little — that  the 
sacrament  which  thus  effaced  all  sin  and  replenished  the  soul  with 
the  Author  of  sanctity  Himself,  would  leave  concupiscence  within 
her,  wounded  but  not  destroyed  ;  whence  must  spring  a  dail3'', 
hourly  conflict— a  conflict  in  which  she  would  be  liable  to  fall, 
but  in  which  if  she  overcame  she  would  be  croivned  ?  This  was 
serious  :  let  her  think  of  it  well. 

Mary  wept. 

"  In  what  degree  the  sacrament  of  baptism  may  diminish  con- 
cupiscence, depends  in  part  on  the  dispositions  more  or  less  perfect 
with  which  you  receive  it,  on  the  fervor  of  your  prayers,  and  the 
simplicity  of  your  intention  before  and  after.  The  sevenfold  grace 
which  the  Holy  Ghost  inspires  in  confirmation  is  a  sevenfold  pan- 
oply against  this  enemy  as  well  as  every  other.  The  daily,  super- 
substantial  bread  of  the  Divine  Eucharist  will  be  a  remedy  for 
infirmity  as  well  as  a  perennial  source  of  life  ;  and  finally,  even  a 
fall  will  not  be  hopeless,  for  the  Sacrament  of  Penance  remains. 
Still  I  must  tell  you  that  none  of  these  things  will  change  your 
nature,  my  dear  child,  nor  your  acquired  habits  ;  but  they  will 
give  you  a  life  and  a  strength  above  nature,  by  virtue  of  which,  if 
you  will,  you  may,  while  in  the  flesh,  live  not  after  the  flesh  but 
after  the  Spirit.    But  to  do  so  is  not  easy.    It  will  cost  you  much 


238 


AL  B AN . 


suffering — internal  and  external,  many  a  hard  battle  with  yourself ; 
nor  must  you  count  on  a  single  day's  remission  of"  the  struggle 
while  you  Ifve.  It  is  a  narrow  way  :  you  may  easily  miss  it.  It 
is  a  rough  way  :  you  may  easily  be  discouraged  by  it.  It  is  the 
only  way  :  you  must  persevere  in  it  till  the  soul  and  body  are 
parted  by  death,  or  both  are  lost  for  ever.  I  rejoice,  and  yet  I 
tremble,  when  I  see  one  like  you  who  has  been  nursed  in  the  lap 
of  luxury,  and  before  whom  the  w^orld  spreads  a  thousand  fascina- 
tions, called — mysteriously  called,  as  few  of  the  rich  and  noble  are 
— to  enter  upon  this  rugged  path,  which  leads  indeed — but  through 
much  tribulation — to  the  kingdom  of  God." 

"  I  am  called,  father  :  let  me  enter  it,"  said  Mary,  sinking  on 
her  knees  by  the  side  of  her  chair. 

"  You  must  spend  some  days,  my  daughter,  as  our  holy  mother 
the  Church  enjoins,  in  exercises  of  piety,  viz.,  fasting,  alms-giving, 
and  prayers,  which  you  know  from  your  catechism  are  the  three 
emineiit  good  works.  It  was  by  these  that  Cornelius  the  centurion, 
while  yet  a  heathen,  gained  such  favor  with  God  that  an  angel 
appeared  to  him  by  whom  he  w^as  directed  to  Peter  to  learn  the 
terms  of  salvation.  At  your  age  fasting  must  be  practised  with 
great  moderation.  Sister  Theresa  will  suggest  to  you  what  is 
prudent ;  if  you  can  deny  yourself  some  delicacy  which  you  would 
buy  from  your  own  purse,  so  as  to  give  the  money  to  the  poor,  it 
will  be  very  acceptable  to  God.  It  is  probable  you  have  not  many 
grievous  sins  to  charge  yourself  with,  but  you  must  call  them  to 
mind,  whatever  they  are,  and  be  very  penitent  for  them.  Resolve, 
by  the  aid  of  God's  grace,  never  to  offend  him  deliberately  again 
as  long  as  you  live,  and  remember  constantly  what  you  are  about 
to  do — to  renounce  Satan  with  all  his  works  and  pomps.  Your 
own  will,  the  world's  vanities,  the  desires  of  the  mind  and  the 
flesh,  are  no  more  to  be  your  rule  ;  but  you  are  to  mortify  your 
passioiis,  to  imitate  the  humility  of  your  Saviour,  and,  hke  Him, 
live  only  to  do  the  will  of  God.  Will  you  endeavor  in  this  way 
to  dispose  yourself  to  receive  the  grace  of  baptism  ?" 

"  I  will,  father,"  said  Mary,  still  humbly  kneeling. 


ALBAN. 


239 


The  priest  made  the  sign  of  blessing  over  her,  and  gently 
hade  her  rise. 

"  There  is  a  mass  at  the  cathedral  every  morning  at  half-past 
six,  another  at  seven,  and  by  the  mercy  of  God  I  shall  say  one 
here  every  day  this  week  at  half-past  seven.  Now  you  can  do  as 
your  piety  and  your  circumstances  allow  as.  regards  coming  on  the 
intermediate  days,  but  on  Saturday  morning,  if  you  will  be  here 
as  early  as  seven,  with  any  of  your  friends,  or  alone,  Sister  Theresa, 
if  no  one  else  can  be  thought  of  in  the  mean  time,  will  be  your 
godmother,  and  I  will  baptize  you.  Probably  the  Bishop  will 
give  you  confirmation  immediately  after.  At  all  events  you  will 
stay  to  hear  mass,  and  make  your  first  communion.  And  would, 
my  child,  that  I  were  in  your  place." 

Sister  Theresa  led  away  Miss  De  Groot,  They  pause  and 
converse  in  the  chapel.  It  is  growing  dusk,  and  a  little  lamp, 
which  Mary  observed  not  before,  gleams  out  upon  the  almost 
naked  altar.  Above  the  low,  plain  tabernacle  is  an  image,  carved 
in  wood,  of  the  Mother  of  God.  The  meek  brow,  on  which  the 
altar  lamp  at  her  feet  casts  upward  an  effect  of  light  like  life,  is 
crowned  with  white  roses.  The  tAvo  females  implore  the  protec- 
tion of  the  Glueen  of  Saints.  The  young  convert  indeed  felt  a 
thrill  of  indescribable  joy  for  the  first  time  to  see  Mary  thus  pub- 
licly honored.  But  her  father's  dinner  hour  was  close  at  hand. 
It  was  important  not  to  be  called  upon  to  explain  where  she  had 
been.  So  she  kissed  the  Sister  of  Charity,  and  sped  away,  light 
of  foot  and  rejoicing  in  heart. 

No  one  insulted  by  word  or  look  the  beautiful  and  well-attired 
young  lady,  threading  so  rapidly  and  fearlessly  the  half-twilight, 
half-lamp  lit  streets.  It  was  a  famihar  sight  in  New  York, 
and  by  no  means  an  unfamiliar  circumstance  to  herself  But  the 
last  lonely  quarter  of  a  mile  after  she  had  left  the  houses  behind, 
was  more  nervous,  and  our  dear  heroine  almost  ran  over  this  part 
of  the  way,  till  she  set  her  foot,  reassured,  on  the  broad  pavement 
before  her  father's  stately  mansion. 


240 


ALB AN. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

It  was  a  cold,  stormy  morn  of  mid-winter,  wben,  at  about  a 
quarter  past  six,  the  young-  convert  stole  down  the  private  stair 
and  let  herself  out  of  the  house  by  a  side-door.  There  she  paused. 
The  street  was  dark.  The  line  of  lamps  down  the  lonely  Avenue 
rendered  it  more  gloomy.  The  young  lady  was  afraid  to  venture 
forth. 

A  man  passed,  going  towards  the  city,  and  walking  fast.  He 
was  attired  as  a  laborer,  and  heeded  not,  if  he  perceived,  the  female 
form  in  the  basement  doorway  of  the  great  house.  Then  a  milk- 
cart  rattled  by.  Not  being  given  to  foolish  fears,  Mary  began  to 
accuse  herself  of  timidity.  She  stepped^forth  and  walked  on  quite 
bravely.  But  she  sees  a  man  approaching  in  the  opposite  direction, 
she  becomes  nervous  and  retreats  to  her  doorway.  The  individual 
approached.  His  appearance,  as  he  passed  under  the  street-lamp, 
was  that  of  a  gentleman,  and  he  slackened  his  pace  on  seeing  a  girl 
in  a  doorway  at  that  hour.  •  He  stopped  at  the  court-yard  and  spoke 
to  her,  whereupon  jNIary  hastily  retired  into  the  house,  nervously 
bolting  the  door.  The  stranger  impudently  whistled  a  tune  and 
sauntered  on.  The  young  lady  opened  the  door  ajar,  but  dared  not 
come  out  again  from  her  place  of  security,  until  she  distinguished 
the  voices  of  some  women.  They  were  approaching  rapidly,  and 
speaking  in  an  unmistakable  national  accent.  She  went  out  to 
them  as  far  as  the  gate.    They  were  hurrying  past. 

"  How  far  are  you  going,  ma'am,  please  ?"  said  Mary,  with 
quickness. 

"  Sure  we're  goin'  down  the  street  a  piece,  ma'am." 

"  May  I  keep  along  with  you  ?"  asked  Mary,  hoping  it  might 
prove  a  good  piece.    "  I  am  afraid  to  go  alone." 

"  Ye' re  entirely  welcome,  and  any  way  the  street  is  free.  But 
it's  late  we  are  this  minute." 


AL  B A  N . 


241 


They  strode  on  as  fast  as  she  could  well  walk,  though  active  of 
limb. 

"  It's  mighty  discreet  ye  are  to  w^aut  company,"  said  the 
woman  who  had  answered  her.  "  I  suppose  ye  work  for  a 
milliner  ?" 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  Mary.    "  I  am  not  going  to  my  work." 
"  May  be  ye've  a  place  in  yon  great  house  ?" 
"  Yes,  I  have  a  place  there  at  present." 

"  But  ye're  afraid  of  losing  it.  Well,  there's  always  more  to  be 
had  in  this  counthry,  they  say.  But  they're  not  all  good  places 
by  a  great  dale.  Here's  me  daughter  has  jist  lift  one  where  she 
got  siven  dollars  a  month,  becase  she  thought  better  to  lose  a  place 
than  her  sowl,  let  alone  her  body  into  the  bargain.  The  thrials  a 
poor  girl  has  to  go  through  in  most  rispictable  families  from  them 
as  should  know  better  is  dreadful.  Lord  have  mercy  on  us  I" 
sighing.  **  'Tis  a  wicked  city,  as  Father  Murphy  tould  her  at  con- 
fession, jist  to  encourage  her  like,  and  the  poor  Irish  servant  girls, 
says  he,  is  what  saves  it  from  bein'  burrent  by  a  shower  of  fire  and 
brimstone  like  Sodom  and  Gomorrhay." 

"I  dare  say  he  spoke  truth  there,"  observed  Mary. 

"  Och  !"  sighing  again,  "  it's  likely  enough  ye  know  the  thruth 
of  it  as  well  as  us  or  better,  if  ye  live  in  yon  fine  house.  Ye  seem 
a  purty  gintale  little  body,  and  a  sweet  voice  ye've  got  any  way  : 
I  wish  ye  mayn't  know  the  thruth  of  what  I've  been  sayin',  too 
well.  Ye've  not  the  honor  and  advantage  of  bein'  a  Catholic,  I 
suppose  ;  but  keep  y'r  innocence,  and  may  be  it's  yourself  that  will 
be  one  before  ye  die." 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  going  to  the  cathedral  to  hear  mass,"  said 
Mary. 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,  ye  niver  spoke  a  truer  w^ord  in  y'r  hfe.  It's 
jist  to  the  cathaydral  we're  goin'." 

"  I  am  going  there  too  for  the  same  purpose,"  said  Mary.  "  I 
call  myself  a  Catholic." 

"And  is  it  a  Roman  Catholic  that  you  mane  ?"  returned  her 
new  acquaintance,  with  characteristic  caution. 

21 


242 


AL  B  AN. 


Yes,  a  E-oman  Catholic,  or  what  should  I  be  going  to  mass 

for?" 

"  Indeed,  and  that's  true,  but  there's  people  that  wants  us  to 
take  their  little  books  and  says  they  '  call  themselves  Catholics,'  but 
the  Lord  knows  that  nobody  else  iver  called  them  so,"  said  Mrs. 
Dolman,  whose  acute  ear  had  noticed  both  the  unfamiliar  expres- 
sion and  the  young  lady's  accent. 

The  discovery  somewhat  altered  her  companions'  notion  of  her. 
If  she  was  a  Catholic  and  going  to  mass,  her  being  in  the  street  at 
that  early  hour  was  not  so  positive  proof  of  belonging  to  their  own 
class  or  one  not  much  above  it.  It  was  now  clear  twilight.  Ten 
or  fifteen  minutes  had  made  a  great  difference.  The  Irish  mother 
and  daughter  regarded  the  young  lady  with  curiosity.  Mary's 
courage  and  dignity  came  back  with  the  first  ray  of  the  ever  pro- 
tecting light.  She  asked  her  companions  where  they  lived,  and 
learned  that  it  was  in  a  shanty  on  the  Avenue,  near  her  father's 
freestone  palace,  and  that  they  went  to  mass  at  that  hour  every 
morning.  She  engaged  them  to  stop  for  her.  The  old  woman 
began  to  apologize  for  speaking  too  freely  to  the  young  lady,  but 
Mary  cut  her  short.  They  reached  the  cathedral,  which  was 
crowded — at  least  in  the  aisles  ; — for  it  was  a  day  of  obligation — 
the  great  feast  of  Epiphany.  With  some  difficulty  Mary  made  her 
way  to  a  pew,  one  of  the  few  open  so  early. 

The  seven-o'clock  mass  was  said  by  an  old  ecclesiastic,  who 
entered  in  a  trailing  purple  cassock  and  rochet  of  very  rich  lace, 
and  who  put  on  the  vestments  for  mass  at  the  altar  itself.  It  was 
the  first  low  mass  Mary  had  heard  ;  it  seemed  to  her  very  rapid. 
A  considerable  number  of  persons  received  communion,  and  among 
them  one  of  her  new  Irish  friends — the  daughter.  Mary  could  not 
help  noticing  this  girl's  absorbed  attention,  kneeling  on  the  floor  of 
the  aisle  just  before  her.  The  mother,  except  at  the  gospels  and 
creed,  remained  nearly  prostrate  on  the  floor,  and  when  her  daughter 
went  up  to  the  rail,  sobbed  aloud.  Mary  observed  how  wretchedly 
they  both  were  clad. 

"  The  Hfe  that  dwells  in  those  poor  creatures,"  thought  she  "is 


ALB AN. 


243 


the  very  life  of  my  Lord  :  when  shall  it  dwell  in  me  I  The  Star 
which  I  saw  in  the  East,  has  again  appeared.  I  rejoice  with  the 
Magi.  I  have  found  the  young  Child  with  Mary  His  mother,  in 
the  House  of  Bread.  But  come  and  inhabit  my  heart,  0  divine 
Babe  I  Expectation  of  the  Gentiles,  I  expect  thee.  Messiah, 
King  of  Israel  I  I  long  for  thee,  as  wanderers  long  for  the  morning 
light.    0  Sun  of  Justice,  arise  on  my  soul  I" 

She  was  full  of  ardent  desires  :  the  mass  intensely  excited 
them.  She  would  gladly  have  waited  for  another;  indeed,  it 
seemed  to  her  that  she  could  hear  mass  for  ever, — never  quit  her 
knees  before  the  Tabernacle.  She  dared  not  stay,  however,  but 
while  the  purple-stoled  ecclesiastic  was  unvesting  at  the  altar, 
went  by  lowly  genuflecting,  openly  and  yet  unnoticed,  with  deep 
and  safe  feeling  shared  by  many  and  deemed  natural  by  all,  and 
so  passed  out  by  the  chapel,  leaving  her  humble  friends,  one  at 
her  thanksgiving,  the  other  at  her  beads.  The  city,  adorer  of 
Mammon,  is  now  awake. 

Miss  De  Groot's  morning  excursion  attracted  no  notice  at 
home  ;  for  she  had  been  accustomed  to  walk  before  breakfast  in 
the  autumn,  after  she  came  from  boarding-school  to  reside  with 
her  parents  in  their  new  house.  Sometimes  it  would  be  on  Wash- 
ington Square,  then  not  very  inviting  ;  sometimes  down  a  cross 
street  to  the  still  beautiful  river-side  ;  or  again,  beyond  Broadway, 
where  at  that  time  a  winding  road  passed  by  gray  rocks  and 
golden  groves.  To  have  gone  forth  a  half  hour  or  so  earlier,  to 
attend  church  with  some  hundreds  of  poor  people,  did  not  consti- 
tute a  very  grievous  offence,  and  the  father  whose-  daughter  is 
guilty  of  no  greater  indiscretion,  may  congratulate  himself 

Mary  was  a  sensible  girl,  in  spite  of  her  popish  flights.  She 
was  aware  that  no  act  of  piety  she  could  perform  would  be  so 
distasteful  to  her  parents  as  fasting.  Much,  therefore,  as  she 
desired  to  fast  on  the  days  preceding  her  baptism,  she  resolved  to 
do  nothing  that  could  attract  their  attention.  Nevertheless,  by 
a  holy  artifice  which  saints  have  practised,  she  contrived  to  go 
without  her  breakfast  every  morning.    One  day  she  had  it  sent 


244 


ALBAN. 


to  her  room  ;  another  she  amused  herself  during  the  entire  meal 
with  reading  tlie  newspaper  aloud  ;  the  last  day,  which  was  Fri- 
day, she  had  no  need  to  dissemble  the  matter.  As  for  luncheon, 
she  could  make  it  as  sparing  as  she  liked,  and  confined  herself 
to  bread  and  water  for  the  quality,  which  cost  her  much  faintness 
and  headache.  At  dinner  she  made  amends,  (for  a  growing  girl 
must  eat,)  but  (except  one  day)  on  fish  and  vegetables  ;  flatulent, 
unsatisfying  food  she  found  it.  Altogether,  the  flesh  suffered, 
and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  spirit  profited. 

After  breakfast  on  Wednesday  morning,  Mary  tied  on  her 
bonnet,  and  visited  the  shanty  of  her  Irish  friends — a  low  cabin 
of  boards,  ten  feet  by  twelve,  with  one  smalt  window,  through 
a  pane  of  which  the  stove-pipe  made  its  exit.  Like  Mr.  De 
Groot's  freestone  mansion,  it  occupied  an  entire  square  ;  but  in 
lieu  of  the  high-walled  garden  planted  with  fruit-trees,  and 
traversed  by  lines  of  box,  the  circling  court-yard  with  its  shrubs 
and  frequent  evergreens,  making  even  winter  cheerful,  and  the 
conservatory  glowing  with  red  cactus,  and  a  hundred  other 
bright-flowered  plants,  and  exhaling  on  a  sunny  noon  the  fragrance 
of  the  myrtle,  the  rose,  and  the  orange-tree — around  the  widow 
Dolman's  shanty  extended  a  bare  stony  lot,  fenceless  and  rude, 
where  not  a  blade  of  grass  would  grow  even  in  summer,  the  soil, 
and  many  a  foot  more  of  the  old  earth,  having  been  carted  away 
in  grading  the  Avenue. 

The  widow  Dolman  had  six  children,  of  whom  Margaret,  the 
girl  who  had  received  at  mass,  was  the  eldest,  and  about  seventeen. 
Three  more  were  of  the  same  sex,  with  a  good  leap  from  Margaret 
to  the  next  sister,  and  the  two  boys  were  quite  little.  They  were  a 
bare -footed,  ragged  set,  not  over  clean,  with  long  uncombed  hair 
flying  loose  on  the  shoulders  of  the  girls  ;  but  all  had  good  features, 
though  wild  ;  and  Margaret  was  pretty  ;  her  poor  calico  frock,  and 
the  scant  under-clothing  which  made  it  hang  like  a  rag  about  her, 
betrayed  a  rounded,  healthy  shape.  The  shanty  contained  neither 
table  nor  chairs,  nor  yet  a  bedstead.  The  beds  were  miserably 
huddled  into  a  corner,  and  the  younger  children  sat  upon  them. 


ALB AN , 


245 


To  Miss  De  Groot  they  offered  a  trunk.  Yet  there  was  a  cradle 
where  the  baby  nestled,  (a  child  under  two  years,)  and  with  it  the 
youngest  girl,  a  poor  little  creature  barely  four,  white  as  chalk 
with  chronic  dysentery.  And  yet  this  family,  poor  as  they  were, 
had  taken  in  out  of  charity  a  woman  poorer  still,  a  common  street 
beggar  who  sought  cold  victuals  from  door  to  door,  and  who  with 
her  child  of  seven,  both  in  the  unequivocal  garb  of  beggary,  with 
their  mop  hair  and  dirt-brown  garments,  the  child's  dark  skin 
showing  through  her  rags,  cowered  over  their  bag  of  broken  meat 
in  a  . corner  of  the  shanty.  The  young  visitor  was  shocked  at  the 
all  but  nakedness  of  the  girls. 

"  How  you  must  have  suffered  this  cold  weather  I  And  you, 
Margaret,  are  hardly  decent." 

Margaret  began  to  cry. 

"And  indeed,  miss,  I  would  keep  meself  dacent  if  I  could." 

"  Och,  and  I  must  tell  ye  the  thruth,"  said  Mrs.  Dolman, 
"  Margaret  has  gone  and  pawned  her  petticoats  (beggin'  ye'r  pardon 
for  mentionin'  them,)  to  pay  for  doctor's  stuff  for  this  one,"  point- 
ing to  the  pallid  little  creature  in  the  cradle.  "And  I've  been 
tryin'  to  get  some  lady  to  take  her  sisters  there,  for  it's  too  hard 
upon  meself  to  fill  so  many  mouths." 

"  How  can  you  expect  a  lady  to  take  such  dirty  little  girls  ?" 
demanded  Mary,  \vith  quickness.  "  Even  if  they  must  go  in 
rags,  and  without  petticoats,  Mrs.  Dolman,  their  faces  might  be 
washed  and  their  hair  combed." 

"  And  indeed,  miss,  we've  niver  a  comb  lift,  for  we've  been 
sellin'  and  pawnin'  these  three  months,  and  I  not  able  to  get 
work.  And  it  is  of  washin'  ye  were  spakin'  ?  Sure  there's 
nothin'  lift  to  hold  water,  barrin'  the  one  mug,  and  the  pot  to 
boil  the  pratees  in." 

"  And  the  pratees — you  have  enough  of  them  at  least  ?" 

"  Troth,  miss,  there's  niver  been  the  day  yet  but  we've  had 
some,  let  alone  that  we  mightn't  always  have  what  we  wanted. 
But  thank  God  for  not  littin'  us  starve  either  with  cowid  or 
hunger." 

21* 


246 


ALBAN. 


And  how  had  they  been  reduced  to  these  straits  was  what  the 
visitor  wanted  to  know  :  for  it  seemed  to  her  almost  incredible 
that  such  destitution  existed.  The  thing  began  about  six  months 
before,  when  the  father  was  brought  home  on  a  shutter,  killed  by 
the  falling  in  of  a  bank  : — an  Irish  laborer,  honest,  industrious,  and 
thoughtless  ;  a  trifle  fond  of  the  whiskey,  and  ready,  under  such 
circumstances,  for  a  row  ;  given  to  hearing  mass  outside  the 
church  when  he  might  as  well  have  gone  in,  negligent  about  his 
"duty,"  but  chaste  from  infancy  to  manhood,  and  most  happy  in 
having  made  his  Easter  only  a  fortnight  before  his  unexpected 
death.  For  the  first  three  months  after  this  bereavement  they  got 
on  pretty  well,  for  Margaret  had  a  place,  and  a  good  share  of  her 
earnings  M'ent  to  support  the  shanty  establishment.  Mrs.  Dolman 
got  some  chores,  and  they  trusted  in  God.  Then  Margaret,  Avho 
like  her  more  favored  visitor,  was  just  budding  into  womanhood, 
began  to  be  tried.  She  did  not  mind  the  impertinence  of  the 
young  gentlemen  in  the  family  ;  she  told  her  mistress,  who  put  a 
stop  to  it,  at  least  to  what  could  not  be  endured.  But  to  go  to 
mass  on  Sunday  morning  she  staid  at  home  all  the  Sunday  after- 
noons ; — the  time  that  girls  at  service  generally  prefer  going  out, 
for  it  is  a  time  of  visiting,  walking  with  beaux,  &c.  Thus  she 
was  left  alone  in  the  kitchen,  and  her  master,  feigning  an  excuse 
for  not  accompanying  his  wife  and  daughters  to  church,  used  to 
come  down  and  attempt  to  corrupt  the  innocence  of  this  young 
maid-servant.  He  offered  her  money  and  presents  of  finery,  such 
as  other  girls  of  her  rank  wore,  but  which  she  could  not  aflbrd, 
(for  he  knew  where  the  wages  went,)  and  offered  to  clothe  her 
sisters  and  get  them  places,  and  all  that ;  while  Margaret,  as  ap- 
peared from  her  own  artless  story,  resisted  in  the  most  feminine 
and  gentle  way,  weeping,  and  representing  to  him  the  wickedness 
of  his  conduct.  Finally,  after  telling  her  story  to  Father  Murphy 
one  Saturday  afternoon,  she  left  her  place,  giving  so  short  notice 
that  her  mistress  refused  her  a  character  and  kept  back  part  of 
her  wages.  Since  then,  she  had  been  an  inmate  of  the  crowded 
and  dirty  shanty,  and  a  full  sharer  of  its  privations. 


ALB AN. 


247 


Our  delicate  Broadway  promenaders  will  of  course  laugh  at 
Mary  De  Groot  for  parting  with  one  of  her  petticoats  to  Margaret 
on  the  spot,  in  a  fervor  of  charity.  The  next  thing  was  to  get 
the  poor  girl's  clothes  out  of  pawn,  and  provide  the  whole  family 
with  the  means  of  cleanliness  at  least.  Mary's  pocket  money  was 
nearly  exhausted,  when  all  was  accomplished  which  she  deemed 
absolutely  necessary.  To  put  the  girls  in  such  decent  trim  that 
they  could  reasonably  hope  for  admission,  into  proper  families, 
seemed  the  wisest  outlay  she  could  make  for  them.  The  grateful 
Margaret  accompanied  the  young  lady  home  to  receive  some  ad- 
ditional presents  of  cast-ofF  clothing.  Mrs.  De  Groot's  carriage 
was  at  the  door,  it  being  the  day  and  nearly  the  hour  when  Mary 
and  her  stepmother  called  on  Mrs.  Atherton.  The  astonished 
Irish  girl  foUow^ed  her  young  benefactress  to  her  apartment. 
Strange  contrast  to  the  board  shanty,  that  marble  hall  and  broad 
staircase  ;  nor  less  the  young  lady's  own  room,  with  its  rich  old 
furniture,  its  bath-closet  open,  streams  of  hot  and  cold  water 
steaming  and  dashing  into  the  marble  basin  ;  the  tall  mahogany 
wardrobe  agape,  and  the  well-stocked,  nicely-arranged  drawers  ; 
the  toilet's  elegant  apparatus  displayed  : — for  Mary  had  to  dress 
in  haste,  while  Margaret  Dolman,  staring  around,  ate  up  her 
luncheon  with  an  avidity  painful  to  see. 


248 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Our  hero  and  his  parents  appeared  punctually  at  five  on  Thursday, 
at  the  mansion  in  the  Avenue.  A  bright  sea-coal  fire  illumined 
the  innermost  saloon,  and  the  Rev.  Dr.  Fluent,  whom  they  were 
invited  to  meet,  was  already  there,  sitting  bolt  upright  on  a  sofa 
of  silver  brocade.  He  was  a  gentleman  of  striking  physiognomy 
and  high-bred  air,  and  his  black,  erect  form,  relieved  against  the 
throne-like  seat  he  had  taken,  was  quite  imposing.  Mrs.  Fluent 
was  nooked  with  their  hostess  in  the  corner  of  another,  a  retiring 
woman,  remarkably  pretty  withal,  as  your  ministers'  wives  gen- 
erally are,  and  no  wonder,  since  the  ministers,  if  at  all  popular, 
usually  have  their  pick  among  the  young  lambs — we  mean  the 
young  ladies — of  their  flocks.  At  first  there  was  no  one  else 
present,  and  the  conversation  ran  very  orthodoxly,  the  reverend 
doctor  pretty  much  engrossing  it.  He  spoke  en  passant,  but  with 
unction,  of  a  revival  in  which  he  had  been  engaged  ;  and  Alban, 
who  knew  what  revivals  were,  hardly  listened,  till  the  doctor 
diverged  to  a  paper  conflict  into  which  he  had  been  drawn  with 
a  high-church  bishop,  wherein,  from  his  own  account,  confirmed 
by  Mrs.  De  Groot,  our  hero  would  have  supposed  the  former  to 
have  been  completely  victorious,  and  to  have  demolished  for  ever 
the  figment  of  Apostolic  Succession,  if  he  had  not  that  very  morn- 
ing heard  the  very  contrary  asserted  by  his  cousins  the  Greys. 
Then  the  doctor  spoke  oi"  Old  School  and  New  School,  (or  "  Twee- 
dledum and  Tweedledee,"  as  he  termed  them;)  of  Low  Calvinism 
and  High  Calvinism  ;  and  of  the  Hopkinsian  tenet  once  popular 
in  New  England,  or  that  it  was  necessary  to  be  willing  to  be 
damned  fur  the  glory  of  God,  which  he  entirely  exploded.  This 
led  him  to  discuss  a  famous  text  of  the  Hopkinsians,  which  the 
doctor  slipped  through  finely,  by  dint  of  grammar  and  rhetoric, 
and  thence,  to  defend  his  position,  his  genius  and  his  memory 


ALBAN . 


249 


leading  him  on,  plunged  into  an  ocean  of  quotation,  passage  after 
passage  heaving  up  ore  rotitndo,  like  waves  breaking  in  foam.  It 
was  a  novel  exhibition,  to  Alban,  who  was  equally  surprised  and 
entertained. 

The  De  Groots,  however,  had  invited  others.  A  Mr.  Clinton 
came  first — a  retired  merchant,  with  his  fashionable  M'ife  and 
daughter,  people  of  particularly  easy  manners,  whose  arrival  en- 
tirely changed  the  tone  of  the  conversation  from  religion  to  the 
chit-chat  of  the  day.  Next  entered  a  Mr.  Livingston  Tan  Brugh 
(so  announced)  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  young  man  of  some  five- 
and-twenty,  appertaining  to  Mr.  De  Groot's  own  class,  his  father 
being  a  manorial  proprietor  on  the  Hudson.  After  him  entered 
the  patroon  himself,  who  alone  of  all  the  manor-lords  disputed 
Mr.  Van  Rensselaer's  exclusive  claim  to  that  title,  and,  lean- 
ing on  his  arm,  a  friend — the  Rev.  Mr.  Warens,  minister  of  the 
Unitarian  church,  or  chapel,  in  which  Mr.  De  Groot  was  a  pew- 
holder.  Last  of  all  glided  in  the  daughter  of  the  house,  in  virgin 
white,  and  a  trifle  pale. 

Mary  was  saluted  by  Mrs.  and  Miss  Clinton  with  a  kiss  on 
both  cheeks  ;  to  the  remainder  of  the  guests  she  made  her  wonted 
graceful  obeisance,  except  Mr.  Warens,  to  whom  she  went  up, 
and  shook  him  cordially  by  the  hand  as  an  old  friend.  White- 
haired  Scip  announced  dinner,  and  the  party  filed  off  through 
the  Vanderlyn  cabinet  into  the  dining-room. 

An  effective  scene  of  domestic  splendor  presented  itself  to 
them  as  they  entered.  The  table  was  round,  lighted  with  bran- 
ches of  silver  gilt,  and  in  the  centre  an  ancient  salt-cellar  of  the 
same,  terminating  in  a  quaint,  spreading  flower-vase.  The  sconces 
on  the  walls  were  filled  with  lighted  tapers,  and  the  old  Dutch 
pictures,  the  carved  oak  wainscot  and  chairs,  the  sparkling  cup- 
board, the  high  and  broad  oak-shuttered  window,  the  rich  festive 
board,  the  soft  abundant  light,  completed  a  picture  rarely  seen  on 
this  side  the  Atlantic.  Nor  were  the  guests  unworthy  of  it,  at 
least  in  outward  appearance.  Mr.  Clinton,  notwithstanding  his 
aristocratic  name,  had  been  a  poor  boy  and  the  architect  of  his 


250 


ALBAN . 


own  fortune  ;  but  he  had  rather  the  air  of  an  old  noble  gracefully- 
decaying  after  a  youth  of  splendid  excess.  It  was  the  more  re- 
markable, as  he  was  not  an  American  but  a  native  of  the  Green 
Isle.  His  wife  was  a  New  Yorker,  of  a  fashionable  family — 
Grace  church  people  :  all  the  world  knows  what  that  signifies. 
Their  daughter  was  highly  distinguished,  brilliantly  fair,  with  a 
profusion  of  light  brown  ringlets,  very  fine  teeth,  and  a  delicate 
though  sensual  physiognomy.  Next  to  Miss  Clinton  sat  Yan 
Brugh,  who  had  a  gentlemanlike  countenance,  a  little  marred  by 
dissipation.  Mr.  Warens  was  short,  thin,  and  dark,  with  a  bald 
forehead  and  penetrating  black  eye,  somewhat  restless.  The 
head  of  Alban's  father  had  become  grand  and  historical  as  he  ad- 
vanced in  years  ;  but  slight,  pale,  irregular  in  features  and  plainly 
attired  as  she  was,  nature  and  breeding  had  written  lady  on  the 
face  and  mien  of  Mrs.  Atherton,  more  unequivocally  than  on 
those  of  any  other  woman  present.  The  time  we  have  occupied 
in  noting  this  would  scarcely  have  sufficed  for  Dr.  Fluent's  elo- 
quent grace,  in  which  he  thanked  God  for  every  thing  but  the 
dinner,  and  asked  every  blessing  except  a  blessing  on  the  food. 

"  The  reverend  gentleman  must  have  forgot  to  say  his  prayers 
this  morning  by  his  taking  this  opportunity  for  it,"  whispered  Mr. 
Clinton  to  Mary  De  Groot,  while  she  took  off  her  gloves. 

"  We  must  say  grace  for  ourselves  if  we  don't  hke  what  is 
said  for  us,"  replied  the  young  lady, 

"  I  observed  you  '  blessing'  yourself.  Is  that  anywhere  a 
custom  of  Protestants  ?" 

"  Blessing  myself?    What  is  that  ?" 

"  Making  the  sign  of  the  cross.    We  call  it  so  in  Ireland." 
"  Oh,  indeed  I" 

"  You  seem  hungry.  Miss  Mary." — She  had  attacked  her 
bread.    "  Be  patient  and  your  turn  will  come  for  soup." 
"  My  fingers  were  restless,  Mr.  Clinton." 

"  No,  I  see  real  hunger  sparkling  in  your  eyes.  The  sharp- 
ness of  famine  is  in  your  youthful  face.  You  have  been  fasting. 
This  is  wrong.    Even  in  the  Uoman  Catholic  Church  boys  and 


AL  B  AN. 


251 


girls  under  age  are  not  obliged,  and  generally  not  permitted, 
to  fast." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  that  ?" 

"  Living  so  long  as  I  have,  one  picks  up  a  deal  of  miscellane- 
ous information." 

We  are  thinking  whether  it  would  not  be  something  in  our 
way  to  describe  the  dinner,  course  by  course,  as  was  the  method  of 
the  old  romancers  and  poets,  beginning  with  Homer.  A  first-rate 
Knickerbocker  dinner  is  a  peculiar,  a  national  thing.  We  may 
pass  over  the  inevitable  fish  and  boiled,  with  a  gentle  reference  to 
the  oysters,  which  do  not  taste  as  if  they  had  been  stewed  with 
an  equal  qiiantity  of  old  ha'pennies,  as  oysters  always  do  in  Eu- 
rope, (but  we  learned  to  like  that  coppery  flavor,)  and  to  those 
innocent  apples  of  the  earth  (let  us  have  refinement  in  phraseolo- 
gy before  all  things  I)  crumbling  like  pollen,  white  as  lilies^  and 
hot  as — don't  burn  your  mouth  with  them  at  least.  But  we 
can't  help  a  sensation,  however  we  may  try  to  look  calm,  when 
that  huge  saddle  of  underdone  wild  venison  appears,  with  a 
bright  array  of  silver  heaters  to  cook  the  slices  on  the  table  ac- 
cordnig  to  the  taste  of  each  several  guest.  This  is  our  real  din- 
ner— a  meal  which  London  or  Paris,  or  the  ancient  Baiae,  never 
knew — of  which,  and  of  some  of  the  endless  American  legumes, 
our  innocent  and  refined  predilection,  all  partake  :  and  we  will 
jiot  spoil  it,  although  a  course  of  small  game  tempts  us  not  alto- 
gether in  vain  by  the  bounteous  choice  it  offers — partridges  from 
the  .  mountains,  grouse  from  the  plains,  canvass  backs  from  the 
rivers,  and  flocks  of  nameless  smaller  birds.  What  Muse  that 
neither  soars  too  high  nor  sinks  too  low,  shall  aid  us  to  present  the 
delicacies  of  the  dessert  (general  cisatlantic  name  for  things  sepa- 
rately classed  abroad)  so  refreshing  alike  to  the  eye  and  the  palate. 
.  Snowy  ice  creams — as  glaciers  descend  to  the  border  of  flowery 
valleys — precede  by  a  moment  the  rich  tropical  and  native  fruit 
and  flowers  intermingled,  that  finally  stand,  with  the  wines  and 
colored  glasses,  on  the  polished  black  oaken  table.  The  patroon 
though  a  philosopher,  being  also  a  true  Knickerbocker,  was  proud 


252 


ALB AN. 


of  his  wmes.  The  choicest  vintages  of  France  and  the  Rhine 
made  his  cellars  almost  poetical,  and  he  invited  you  to  try  some 
Madeira  which  had  mellowed  for  a  third  of  a  century  in  his  gar- 
ret storeroom  under  the  suns  of  American  summers,  with  as  high 
and  fine  a  feeling  of  dignity,  almost,  as  that  with  which  he  had 
received  Alban  in  his  magnificent  library. 

When  the  weather  had  been  spoken  of,  and  all  had  agreed 
that  December  had  been  a  very  cold  month,  but  not  so  cold 
as  the  year  previous,  that  we  were  now  having  the  January 
thaw,  but  that  we  might  expect  something  severe  in  February 
and-March,  Mrs.  Clinton  mentioned  the  new  Opera  House  in 
Church-street,  and  as  this  topic  was  talten  up  rather  timidly  at 
first,  owing  perhaps  to  the  presence  of  the  reverend  clergy,  the 
conversation  ran  in  a  general,  abstract  way  on  the  practicability 
of  establishing  this  musical  luxury  in  America. 

"  It  can  be  introduced,  but  not  yet,"  said  Mr.  Clinton,  who  was 
generally  right. 

"  Never  in  this  country,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  senior,  with  posi- 
tiveness.  "  We  don't  want  to  pay  so  much  money  to  hear  Italian 
singing." 

Mr.  De  Groot  differed  from  his  guest.  The  opera,"  said  he, 
"  has  produeed  some  of  the  sublimest  works  of  human  genius. 
Without  it  a  chasm  would  exist  in  the  works  of  the  imagination 
which  ought  not  to  exist  there  any  more  than  in  nature." 

"  The  grander  it  is  as  a  work  of  art,  the  more  I  object  to  it," 
said  Dr.  Fluent,  looking  round  and  sitting  up.  "  Yes  :  for  that 
but  renders  it  of  all  theatrical  amusements  (which  I  condemn  ^?^ 
toto)  the  most  perfect  masterpiece  of  sensual  and  secular  seduc- 
tion." Dr.  Fluent  rounded  off^  his  periods  with  an  oratorical 
flourish.  "With  the  opera,"  he  continued,  "is  necessarily  con- 
nected the  ballet,  and  the  defence  so  ingeniously  set  up  for  the  one 
by  our  accomplished  host,  is  equally  applicable,  mutatis  mutandis, 
to  the  other.  Without  the  ballet — the  laws  of  beauty  and  ryth- 
mical expression  applied  to  the  movements  of  the  human  (and  par- 
ticularly of  the  female)  body — "  the  doctor  was  somewhat  too 


A  L  B  A  N 


253 


scientific  here  for  the  ladies — "  there  would  be  a  chasm  in  the 
works  of  the  imagination.  This  is  a  rediictio  ad  absurd um ;  for 
the  immorality  of  the  ballet,  I  hope,  will  be  admitted."  The 
reverend  gentleman  finished  with  a  long  quotation  from  a  Latin 
satirist  that  threw  the  few  hackneyed  phrases  which  he  had  already 
from  habit  employed  completely  into  the  background.  He  first 
recited  the  original  with  great  effect  and  then  edified  the  company 
with  an  elegant  extempore  paraphrase.  With  all  his  pretension 
and  extravagance  Dr.  Fluent  possessed  a  scholarship  and  taste  that 
carried  him  through.  The  finest  actor  could  not  have  done  it  bet- 
ter ;  it  told  admirably  ;  and  Mr.  Clinton  ironically  applauded  wath 
his  two  index  fingers. 

"  I  still  must  think  the  opera  moral,"  said  Mr.  De  Groot,  with 
a  smile.  "  I  can  never  forget  the  effect  of  the  Freischutz  at  Dres- 
den, performed  by  Weber's  own  choir.  That  opera,  and  Don 
Giovanni,  are  as  edifying  to  me  as  High  Mass  to  a  devout  Catholic 
like  Mary,  or  one  of  Dr.  Fluent's  eloquent  discourses  to  a  pious 
Presbyterian  like  her  mother." 

This  caused  some  gentle  laughter  ;  but  Mrs.  Atherton  looked 
shocked,  and  Mary  De  Groot  blushed.  Miss  Chnton  turned  quickly 
to  the  latter,  and  leaning  somewhat  familiarly  past  Alban,  who  sat 
between  them,  half-whispered  "  Is  that  true,  Mary  ?  Have  you 
become —  ?    Well,  I  always  thought  you  would,  you  know." 

Miss  Clinton's  attention  was  principally  occupied  by  her  other 
neighbor,  Mr.  Van  Brugh,  but  she  occasionally  spared  a  soft  ques- 
tion or  two  for  Alban,  looking  into  his  dark  blue  eyes  while  he 
responded,  and  if  any  thing  was  said  that  excited  a  general  smile, 
hke  Dr.  Fluent's  display,  she  generally  bestowed  hers  sympatheti- 
cally upon  him,  showing  her  double  string  of  pearls  set  b^'tween  a 
pair  of  rose-leaved  lips.  But  now  our  hero  found  himself  appealed 
to  most  unexpectedly  by  his  host. 

"  What  is  your  opinion  on  this  subject,  Mr.  President  ? — I  heard 
at  New  Haven  that  your  son's  decisions,"  addressing  Mr.  Atherton 
— "  were  famous  in  the  Brothers'." 

"  Were  you  President  of  the  Brothers  in  Unity  ?"  inquired  Dr. 

22 


254 


ALBAN. 


Fluent,  with  obvious  deference.  "  Pray  let  us  hear  your  decision. 
You  have  heard  the  argument  on  both  sides." 

"  A  decision  from  the  President  of  the  Brothers'  Society  I"  said 
Mr.  De  Groot,  in  a  low  voice  and  looking  round. 

"  Speak  up,  Mr.  Alban,"  whispered  Mary  De  Groot,  addressing 
him  almost  for  the  first  time. 

"  The  question  is  the  Italian  Opera  :— can  it,  and  ought  it,  to 
be  introduced  in  America?"  put  in  Mr.  Warens,  neatly. 

''Can  it?"  said  AlHan,  plucking  up  courage,  "has  been 
answered  by  Mr.  Clinton.  I  think  we  are  Europeans  still,  after 
all.    We  have  changed  our  sky  but  not  our  minds." 

"  Hear,  hear  I"  said  Mr.  Clinton. 

"  Black  Care  behind  the  horseman  sits,"  quoted  Dr.  Fluent,  (he 
quoted  it  in  Latin,  however,)  "  and  you  think,  Mr. — Pres-i-dent, 
that  something  blacker  yet  sits  at  the  poop  of  ships  bound  from 
the  old  world,  novas  quccrere  secies^  Dr.  Fluent  pronounced 
the  Latin  so  distinctly  that  even  the  ladies  fancied  they  under- 
stood it. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Alban.  "  I  saw  the  Opera  last  night 
for  the  first  time — 

"  Did  you  ?"  exclaimed  his  mother. 

"And  I  certainly  felt  what  Mr.  De  Groot  has  said  so  much 
better  than  I  can,  that  it  was  one  of  the  foreordained  achievements 
>  of  the  imagination." 

The  patroon  nodded  approbation. 

"  But  whether  Christianity  would  not  class  such  creations  of 
genius  among  the  pomps  of  this  wicked  world — " 

"  Well,  I  tlwughtr  said  his  mother,  exchanging  a  glance  of 
satisfaction  with  Mrs.  De  Groot. 

"  Is  a  qu«^stion, "'continued  Alban,  "  upon  which  I  cannot  be  so 
presumptuous  as  to  ofl^er  an  opinion  in  the  presence  of  the  reverend 
clergy." — Bowing  to  Dr.  Fluent  and  Mr.  Warens. 

"  Very  well  done,  Mr.  Alban  !"  said  Mary  in  a  whisper,  and 
with  a  smile  of  triumph. 

"  Alban  dined  with  Seixas  yesterday,"  observed  Mr.  Atherton, 


ALB AN . 


255 


senior,  by  way  of  explanation.  "  He  invited  you  to  go  to  the 
opera  with  him  afterwards,  I  suppose/' 

"  Exactly  so,  sir.  And  he  told  me  what  I  was  surprised  to  learn, 
that  all  the  great  operatic  composers,  as  w^ell  as  singers,  were  Jews." 

"  I  had  a  dispute  on  that  point  with  Seixas  the  other  day," 
said  Mr.  Clinton.  "  I  maintained  that  the  greatest  composers  were 
Catholics  in  religion,  and  not  even  Jews  by  birth.    I  wonder  if 

Mozart  and  Weber  were  Jews.    And  even    and   ,  the 

new  composers,  and  the  greatest  of  all,  if  they  are  Hebrews  by  ori- 
gin, are  Catholics  in  faith." 

"  Catholics  or  Jews — it  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  I  suppose," 
observed  Mr.  Atherton,  senior,  with  a  look  of  humor.  "  At  least 
I  never  could  see  any  difference." 

Mr.  CHnton  reddened,  and  Mary  De  Groot  opened  her  candid 
mouth  in  a  half-scornful  surprise  ;  but  every  body  else  smiled 
except  Dr.  Fluent,  who  seemed  to  think  that  some  slight  was 
intended  to  religion  in  general.  Miss  Clinton,  with  the  blended 
forwardness  and  tact  of  an  American  girl,  turned  the  conversation 
to  Mr.  Seixas's  liberal  support  of  the  Opera,  which  led  to  a  discussion 
of  his  wealth.  Miss  Clinton  was  enthusiastic  on  the  subject  of  his 
beauty.  She  thought  he  was  the  handsomest  man  in  New  York. 
Alban  observed  that  Miss  Seixas  w^as  very  beautiful — a  real 
Rebecca. 

"  What  jewels  she  wears  I"  said  Miss  Clinton,  turning  to  him. 
"  If  she  were  not  a  Jewess  it  would  hardly  be  in  good  taste  for  a 
demoiselle — would  it  ?" — Miss  Clinton  herself  was  simple  as  a 
white  rose,  yet  one  of  her  taper  indexes  sparkled  with  a  little  hoop 
of  brilhants.  "  And  Mrs.  Seixas  I  since  the  last  bal  we  were  at 
at  the  Tuileries,  I  have  seen  nothing  to  compare  with  her 
stomacher." 

"  I  have  not  seen  Mrs.  Seixas  yet,"  said  Alban. 
When  Miss  Clinton  turned  again  to  her  other  supporter,  Mary 
addressed  Alban  in  a  slight  tone  of  pique. 

"  So  you  have  found  some  Jewish  friends  ?" 
*'  Very  interesting  ones." 


256 


ALBAN. 


*'  I  have  found  some  Catholic  friends  who  interest  me.  One  is 
a  young  girl — about  my  age — who  possesses  finer  jewels  than 
Miss  Seixas,  I  dare  say." 

"  You  mean  virtues  ?" 

"  Yes,  humility,  resignation,  devotion,  purity,  charity,  self-de- 
nying love,  and  unspotted  chastity,"  said  Miss  De  Groot,  with  a 
shght  flush  and  speaking  quick. 

"  The  last,"  replied  Alban  innocently,  "  is  a  virtue,  as  Mr. 
Seixas  told  me,  which  is  most  conspicuous  in  Jewish  females. 
Their  notions  of  delicacy,  he  says,  are  strict  to  a  degree  unknown 
among  Christians,  and  as  for  a  Jewish  lady's  slipping,  it  is  unheard- 
of  1  did  not  quite  appreciate  his  remark,"  continued  Alban,  "  for 
I  told  him  I  thought  all  ladies  naturally  detested  every  thing  of 
that  sort.    With  rare  exceptions,  of  course,  like  your  friend — " 

Miss  De  Groot  turned  to  him  quickly  and  pressed  his  arm, 
although  Alban  had  unconsciously  lowered  his  voice. 

"  Hush  I"  she  whispered. 

Mr.  Clinton,  listening,  smiled. 

"  It  is  very  true,  Mr.  Alban,"  said  Mary  gravely,  and  yet  with 
a  glance  almost  of  tenderness.  "  In  us — as  in  Jewesses — it  is  a 
virtue  in  the  natural  order,  but  in  Catholics  it  is  a  grace." 

"  You  are  a  zealous  convert,"  replied  Alban,  while  Mr.  Clinton 
listened  with  a  peculiar  look. 

"  My  poor  Margaret  Dolman,"  she  continued,  "  is  nothing  but 
an  Irish  servant  girl — careless  and  slipshod  as  any  you  will  meet ; 
no  one  has  ever  taught  her  how  to  be  otherwise  ; — but  such  white- 
ness of  soul  I  I  could  not  have  acted  as  she  did.  I  could  not  have 
united  such  meekness  under  insult  with  such  firmness  in  not  doing 
th-e  slightest  wrong.  My  virtue  would  have  been  half  pride,  but 
hers  was  supported  by  the  single  fear  of  oflending  her  Creator  : — 
*  You  know,  miss,'  she  said,  '  it  would  be  better  to  die  a  thousand 
deaths  than  ollend  Almighty  God  once  I'  What  a  beautiful  mo- 
tive, and  so  holy  I  It  could  never  fail,  but  pride  might,  as  I  have 
often  feared,  Mr.  Alban,  and  Alexandrine  used  to  warn  me." 

Mary  raised  her  voice  a  little  in  uttering  the  concluding  sen- 


ALB AN. 


257 


tence,  and  Miss  Clinton  gave  a  start.  Mr.  Clinton  fell  into  so 
deep  a  revery  that  he  forgot  to  rise  when  the  ladies  left  the  table. 

Cigars,  and  wreaths  of  smoke  curling  among  the  candles  ! 
Livingston  Van  Brugh  was  now  at  home.  He  asked  for  some 
brandy  and  water.  Old  Scip  brought  in  a  boiling  tea-kettle  and  a 
silver  punch-bowl.  All  smoked  except  our  hero  and  Mr.  Warens. 
The  latter  drew  up  to  Alban  and  asked  about  New  Haven.  He 
was  evidently  surprised  to  meet  a  young  man  of  untrammelled 
mind  from  the  orthodox  university.  Mr.  Warens  spoke  of  the  want 
of  moral  culture  among  the  orthodox. 

"  They  substitute  for  it,"  observed  Alban,  "  the  spasmodic 
stimulus  of  revivals.  A  young  New  Englander,  instead  of  regard- 
ing the  whole  of  life  as  a  continuous  probation,  from  the  dawn  of 
reason  to  the  grave,  considers  that  all  depends  on  being  truly  con- 
verted once.  Hence,  before  conversion,  he  makes  no  conscience 
of  his  actions,  for  he  is  not  a  Christian.  After  it,  he  is  careless 
of  committing  private  sins,  provided  he  can  retain  the  belief  that 
his  conversion  is  genuine.  If  this  proves  too  difficult,  the  remedy 
is  to  give  up  the  old  hope  and  get  another.  A  fresh  delusion  thus 
succeeds,  and  so  on,  till  shame  forbids  the  repetition  of  the  process, 
or  a  hardened  insensibility  is  content  to  dispense  with  it." 

Dr.  Fluent  had  pricked  up  his  ears  at  this  conversation,  and 
now  regarded  the  wainscoted  walls  with  a  wild  stern  look. 

"  These  are  the  majority,"  said  Mr.  Warens,  laughing  at  Al- 
ban's  picture.    "  But  all  are  not  such." 

"  Oh,  there  are  good  people  among  us,"  said  Alban, — "  a  sort 
of  spoiled  angels  I  They  disdain,  you  know,  to  do  good  works  to 
merit  heaven,  which  they  consider  already  secured  to  them  by 
God's  special  favor ;  but  they  will  do  something  for  the  Almighty 
in  return,  purely  out  of  gratitude.  It  is  impossible  to  give  an  idea 
of  the  intense  spiritual  pride  fostered  by  such  a  system," 

"You  must  get  acquainted  with  liberal  Christianity,"  said 
Mr.  Warens. 

"  How  can  revealed  religion  be  liberal  ?"  replied  Alban,  thought- 
fully.   "  If  you  deny  the  faith  in  one  point  you  cannot  be  saved." 

22* 


258 


ALBAN. 


"  That  is  Homan  Catliolicism." 

"  And  Judaism.  What  rehgion  was  ever  more  intolerant 
than  that  of  Moses  ?  A  hberal  Judaism  was  punished  with 
death." 

"  Christ  has  done  away  with  that." 

"  Yes  !  the  alternative  He  offered  was  faith  or  damnation." 

"  You  ought  to  be  a  Roman  Catholic,"  repeated  Mr.  Warens, 
with  a  slight  asperity,  while  Dr.  Fluent,  with  his  massive  chin  in. 
the  air,  smiled  grimly  at  the  carved  Bacchantes  of  the  wainscoting. 

"  Or  a  Jewish  proselyte  of  the  gate,"  said  Alban. 

"  Then  you  do  not  accept  Christianity  at  all,"  returned  Mr. 
Warens,  stiffly. 

"  I  believe  God  spoke  by  Moses,"  said  Alban,  "  because  the 
existence  of  the  Jews  at  this  day  proves  it.  I  know  what  Judaism 
is,  and  my  heart  bows  before  a  system  of  morals  evidently  divine. 
'  The  Law  of  the  Lord  is  perfect,  converting  the  soul ;  the  com- 
mandment of  the  Lord  is  pure,  enhghtening  the  eyes,'  "  added 
Alban,  with  a  certain  fervor.  "  Let  Christianity  present  me  similar 
credentials.  Let  it  show  me  a  people — a  polity — built  upon  it, 
and  witnessing  to  it,  and  gifted  with  like  permanence.  Let  its 
doctrine  seem  worthy  of  God  and  wholesome  for  man.  Let  some 
one  at  least  tell  me  what  that  doctrine  is,  for  after  all  my  inquiries 
I  am  still  in  the  dark  on  that  point." 

Mr.  Clinton  had  been  puffing  out  volumes  of  smoke  from  his 
nostrils  (for  he  inhaled  the  weed)  and  apparently  not  listening. 
He  broke  in  with  unexpected  effect. 

"  You  want  a  people — a  polity,  Mr.  Atherton," — Mr.  Clinton 
spoke  with  a  rich,  unusual  brogue,  from  which  he  was  generally 
quite  free — "  a  polity  built  on  Christianity,  or  rather  built  by  its 
Founder,  sir,  to  bear  witness  to  it,  and  existing  immutably,  like 
the  Jews,  in  spite  of  all  changes.  Sir,  the  Catholic  Church  is 
such  a  polity.  She  can  tell  you,  sir,  what  Christianity  is,  and 
you  will  find  it  worthy  of  God  and  wholesome  for  man.  You  are 
nearer  faith,  Mr.  Atherton,  than  either  of  these  learned  divines. 
I  declare  it  is  strange  to  see  a  man  in  a  fog,  seeking  for  what  is 


AL  B AN . 


259 


close  at  his  hand.  Any  poor  Irish  servant  girl  who  knows  her 
catechism  could  teach  you  more  about  Christianity,  gentlemen,  in 
five  minutes,  than  you  have  all  learned  in  your  great  universities 
in  all  your  lives." 

This  outburst  was  received  in  silent  astonishment,  not  less 
than  if  Mr.  Clinton  had  suddenly  given  signs  of  lunacy.  Mean- 
while the  apparent,  because  louder,  stream  of  conversation  had 
run  in  a  poUtical  channel,  whither,  by  an  abrupt  defection  of  Mr. 
Warens,  the  whole  current  now  flowed.  Nullification,  the  great 
speeches  of  Webster,  the  policy  of  Clay,  the  craft  of  Van  Buren, 
the  rude  but  patriotic  energy  of  Jackson,  were  successively  dis- 
cussed. Alban  listened  in  a  fever  of  ambition,  and  was  sorry 
when  Scip  brought  a  message  from  the  ladies  that  the  gentlemen 
would  please  come  and  take  some  coffee. 


260 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

In  tlie  drawing-room  the  ladies  had  divided  into  pairs.  Mrs. 
De  Groot  took  Mrs.  Atherton  into  a  corner  to  tell  her  (she  could 
keep  it  no  longer)  the  story  of  her  stepdaughter's  sad  perversion, 
to  which  Alban's  mother  listened  with  astonishment,  and  consid- 
erable alarm  for  her  unsettled  son.  She  felt  that  so  eccentric  a 
pair  of  young  people  had  better  have  as  little  intercourse  as  possi- 
ble, and  when  Mrs.  De  Groot,  fearing  that  Mrs.  Atherton  might 
be  alarmed  for  Alban,  proceeded  to  say  how  much  she  hoped 
from  his  pious  influence  over  Mary,  Mrs.  Atherton  thought  herself 
obliged  to  let  Mrs.  De  Groot  know  how  much  she  was  mistaken. 
It  was  now  Mrs.  De  Groot's  turn  to  be  astonished,  and  to  perceive, 
moreover,  that  she  had  been  regularly  sold  by  her  husband  in  this 
transaction,  having  been  allowed  to  suppose  that  Mary  was  at- 
tached to  a  pious  and  orthodox  young  collegian,  when  all  the 
while  it  was  an  audacious  speculator  like  Mr.  De  Groot  himself — 
"  one  of  his  own  kidney" — as  she  somewhat  hastily  expressed  her- 
self,— an  infidel,  a  moralist,  and  perhaps  a  Jew  I  Mary,  too,  had 
deceived  her,  like  a  Roman  Catholic  as  she  was.  In  her  agi- 
tation Mrs.  De  Groot  nearly  suffocated,  being,  as  we  have  said, 
inclined  to  flesh,  and  tightly  laced.  Meanwhile  the  easy  Mrs. 
Clinton  entertained  Mrs.  Fluent  (who  was  naturally  an  accom- 
plished listener)  with  an  account  of  the  splendors  of  their  last 
winter  in  Paris  ;  and  Paris  was  the  theme  on  which  Miss  Clinton 
expatiated  with  Mary  De  Groot. 

Miss  Clinton,  whose  companion  listened  with  a  singular  smile, 
and  made  half-sarcastic  replies,  could  tell  of  balls,  operas,  and 
carriage-promenades  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  of  the  court 
at  the  Tuileries.  She  was  enthusiastic  about  the  young  French 
princes,  and  had  danced  with  the  Due  de  Nemours.  She  thought 
American  society  so  unexciting — no  dukes  and  duchesses,  no  prin- 


ALBAN. 


261 


ces  and  courts.  Mary  ought  to  go  abroad.  With  her  beauty  and 
fortune,  and  aristocratic  position,  she  would  have  the  e/itree  every- 
where, and  might  marry  a  duke. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mary,  with  a  flash  of  that  pride  of  pro- 
vincial noblesse  of  which  she  was  very  sensible  ;  "  the  duke  who 
marries  me  will  have  to  come  to  the  Manor  to  woo  me.  I  shan't 
cross  the  water  for  a  husband,  I  promise  you." 

"  Your  being  a  Cathohc  would  add  to  your  currency  in  the 
high  French  circles,"  observed  Miss  Clinton,  after  answering  a 
question  of  Mary's  respecting  the  churches  in  Paris. 

"  I  wonder  you  didn't  become  a  Catholic,  Henrietta  I" 

The  gentlemen  approached  from  the  Vanderlyn  room  where 
the  Ariadne  was  now  unveiled,  the  ladies  having  been  looking  at 
the  pictures.  Mr.  Warens  and  Mary's  father  threw  themselves 
on  a  sofa  together  to  take  their  coffee. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  youth,  Warens  ?" 

*'  A  brilliant  fellow,  but  eccentric.    Says  he's  a  Jew." 

"Ha,  ha  !  Better  a  Jew  than  a  Papist.  The  Jews  are  Uni- 
tarians, Warens." 

"  And  Romanists  are  Christians.  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  so 
bitter." 

*'  Look  at  those  girls,  Warens,  with  Van  Brugh  and  young 
Atherton  doing  the  agreeable  to  both.  Do  you  see  how  Henri- 
etta Clinton's  eyes  turn  sparkling  from  one  to  the  other  ?  What 
a  sympathetic  smile  I  Livingston,  you  see,  is  a  trifle  too  familiar 
— he  has  taken  punch  enough  to  stir  his  Dutch  blood — and  she. 
laughs  and  edges  off  from  him.  How  quiet,  on  the  contrary,  is 
Mary  De  Groot.  She  has  color  since  dinner,  but  her  eyes  are 
fastened  on  the  magnificent  head  of  old  Atherton  as  he  bends 
over  that  table  of  miniatures." 

"  Like  the  virtuous  Moabitess,  she  follows  not  young  men, 
whether  poor  or  rich." 

"  I  would  rather,"  said  Mr.  De  Groot,  with  irritation,  "  see 
her  voluptuously  flirting  like  Henrietta  Clinton,  than  hiding  filial 
disloyalty  under  that  modest  show." 


262 


ALBAN 


"  You  shock  me." 

"  I  have  had  experience.  The  moment  your  wife  or  daughter 
embraces  this  rehgion — adieu  to  confidence  I  I  adored  her  mother, 
who  was  purity  itself.  When  we  were  first  wedded  I  could  with 
difficulty  make  her  undefiled  fancy  comprehend  my  rights.  In 
twenty  maiden  years  her  thoughts  had  never  strayed,  although  I 
received  her  not  from  the  cloister  where  she  was  educated,  but 
from  the  midst  of  a  court.  And  yet  the  thought  was  ever  be- 
tween us,  that  unless  I  adopted  her  faith,  I  was  the  future  com- 
panion of  devils — the  food  of  Hell,  body  and  soul  I" — Mr.  De 
Groot  frowned  terribly.  "  Is  it  nothing  to  me  that  my  daughter 
adopts  these  dogmas  ?" 

Mr.  Warens  soon  after  quitted  his  friend  and  drew  Mary  aside. 
She  blushed  a  good  deal  while  he  talked  to  her,  answered  with  ani- 
mation, and  when  he  left  her,  dashed  away  a  tear.  Van  Brugh 
and  Miss  Clinton  being  now  at  the  piano,  she  joined  Alban  again. 

"Are  you  really  going  to  turn  Jew  ?"  she  asked,  with  vexation. 

"  The  Jews  do  not  admit  proselytes  now,"  replied  he,  smiling. 
"  Nevertheless,  I  am  going  to  the  Synagogue  on  Saturday  to  wit- 
ness the  ancient  worship." 

"  On  Saturday  I  to  the  Synagogue  I"  said  Mary. 

"  "Will  you  go  ?  Females,  you  know,  sit  in  a  gallery  by  them- 
selves, but  I  will  introduce  you  to  Miss  Seixas." 

"  /  go  to  the  Synagogue  on  Saturday  !"  exclaimed  Mary. 

"  I  remember — it  is  your  anniversary." 

"  If  I  engage  to  go,  you  will  say  nothing  to  any  one  of  my 
intention  ?" 

"  It  shall  be  a  profound  secret." 

"  Will  you  come  for  me  in  a  carriage  ?" 

"  Of  course.    It  is  going  to  be  quite  a  mysterious  adventure." 

"  At  such  an  hour  as  I  shall  designate  ?"  she  continued. 
"  On  your  honor  ?" 

"  Command  me,  Lady  Mary,"  said  Alban,  gallantly  bending, 
as  if  to  kiss  her  fingers.  "  The  Synagogue  service  lasts  from 
eight  to  twelve."  • 


ALBAN. 


263 


"  I  will  let  you  know  what  hour  will  suit  me  when  I  know  it 
myself.    I  count  upon  you  on  Saturday,  remember." 

"  You  may  do  so  with  confidence,"  said  Alban,  gravely  and 
significantly. 

And  now  by  twos  and  threes,  white-necked  young  ladies  and 
while- waistcoated,  or  at  least  white-gloved  young  gentlemen  drop- 
ped in.  A  rattling  fire  of  small  talk  ran  along  the  intricate 
battle  line  of  silken  seats.  The  piano,  which  had  merely  motived 
a  desperate  flirtation  between  Van  Brugh  and  Miss  Clinton, 
awoke  into  life.  There  was  a  heavy  cannonade  of  instrumenta- 
tion, and  a  briUiant  charge  or  so  of  songs.  Some  of  the  new- 
comers clustered  round  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  house,  whose 
return  home  seemed  the  occasion  of  this  reunion,  others  swarmed 
round  the  piano  and  music-racks,  ferreting  out  the  most  approved 
pieces.  These  were  not  the  charming  negro  melodies  since  so 
popular,  nor  the  noble  German  airs,  but  some  Italian  opera-bits, 
Mrs.  Hemans'  romantic  ballads,  "The  Sea,"  "The  night  was 
dark,"  and  other  old  favorites  now  forgotten.  Accustomed  to  a 
society  with  a  deal  more  whalebone  in  it,  Alban  was  equally  sur- 
prised and  gratified  by  the  facility  with  which  he  got  acquainted 
with  Mary  De  Groot's  friends.  A  most  unusual  sympathy  and 
mutual  kindness  appeared  to  exist  between  these  young  people,  as 
well  as  a  spirit  of  I'rank  enjoyment  which  he  had  not  elsewhere  ob- 
served. In  the  surnames  of  those  to  w-hom  he  was  introduced,  he 
perceived  one  cause  of  this  difference.  It  was  a  set  of  Stuyvesants 
and  Brevoorts,  Gansevoorts  and  Van  Rensselaers,  Van  Brughs  and 
Livingstons,  De  Witts  and  De  Lanceys.  As  the  evening  advanced 
a  marked  disposition  to  romp  developed  itself  in  this  very  well- 
dressed  but  very  inartificial  circle.  Dancing,  which  they  tried 
first,  did  not  appear  sufficient  for  their  spirits.  Different  plays 
were  proposed.  Mary  De  Groot  objected  to  several,  and  finally 
blind-man's-buff  was  carried  by  acclamation. 

"Oh,  really  I"  said  Alban,  "  are  these  grown-up  young  ladies 
and  gentlemen  going  to  play  blind-man's-buff  in  your  father's 
beautiful  rooms  ?" 


264 


ALBAN. 


"  As  sure  as  fate,"  replied  Mary,  laughing  and  spinning  away 
from  him  in  a  dancing  step,  with  her  drapery  spread  and  whirl- 
ing around  her. 

In  short,  they  were  soon  all  racing  through  the  saloons  like 
children,  dodging  behind  chairs  and  tables,  springing  over  divans, 
hiding  in  corners.  There  was  much  laughter,  now  and  then  a 
scream,  and  the  young  gentlemen  who  were  blindfolded  handled 
the  young  ladies  when  they  caught  them,  rather  freely.  Alban 
could  not  help  suspecting  that  this  was  half  the  charm  of  so  rude 
a  game.  Van  Brugh  really  carried  it  quite  too  far,  particularly  with 
Henrietta  Clinton,  who  was  several  times  caught.  The  last  time 
she  caught  Alban.  He  was  so  modest  that  he  would  never  have 
detected  those  who  suffered  themselves  to  be  apprehended,  par- 
ticularly as  he  was  not  yet  well  acquainted,  and  he  invariably 
called  the  names  wrong,  amid  bursts  of  laughter.  He  began  to 
feel  annoyed.  He  had  observed  that  Mary,  while  she  entered 
into  the  amusement  with  spirit,  running  like  a  little  deer,  and  per- 
fectly wild  with  fun,  always  contrived,  in  whatever  position  her 
sportive  fancy  involved  her,  to  escape  without  being  caught. 
Livingston,  with  one  eye  (as  all  believed)  unblinded,  pursued  her 
once  with  pertinacity,  but  he  might  as  well  have  chased  a  ray  of 
light.  Now  our  hero  had  perceived  some  one  hovering  near  him- 
self, evidently  of  the  long-robed  sex,  who  evaded  his  pursuit  with 
a  similar  dexterity.  At  last  she  stood  on  the  opposite  side  of  a 
gigantic  vase ;  they  went  round  it  once  or  twice ;  suddenly, 
Avhether  accidentally  or  purposely,  her  hand  rested  on  his,  and 
with  a  quick  motion  he  caught  it.  There  was  a  laugh.  He 
drew  her  into  the  middle  of  the  room.  Was  it  Mary  or  was  it 
not  ?  The  manner  of  play  was  like  her,  but  would  Mary  have 
touched  his  hand  ?  He  could  have  decided  the  question  in  a  trice 
by  feehng  her  temples,  for  no  other  girl  present  had  the  hair  simi- 
larly arranged.  It  was  a  liberty  (not  to  speak  of  others)  which 
the  young  men  had  taken  with  their  prizes  without  ceremony. 
While  he  stood  considering,  the  hand  at  first  passively  resigned 
in  his,  made  a  slight  efTort  to  withdraw  itself. 


AL  B AN. 


265 


It  is  Mary  De  Groot. 

The  young  lady  removed  the  bandage  from  his  eyes  amid 
a  general  silence.  All  the  youths  and  maidens  were  gathered  in 
a  close  circle  round  them,  looking  over  each  others'  shoulders. 
Then  they  all  laughed,  and  the  young  ladies  demanded,  "  How- 
did  you  know  ?" — others  exclaimed,  "  You  saw  I"  and  one, 
"  There's  some  freemasonry  here  I"  Henrietta  Clinton  said,  "  It  is 
magnetism."  But  Alban,  tying  the  handkerchief  over  Mary  De 
G root's  eyes,  said,  "  There  are  moral  as  well  as  physical  signs  of 
individuality."  Mary  said  nothing,  and  darting  off,  in  a  minute 
or  two  had  caught  and  named  quite  a  little  girl — the  youngest  of 
the  party,  whose  eager  flight  and  vexation  at  being  captured 
were  etxtremely  amusing. 

The  company  M'^ere  gone.  The  father  and  daughter  were 
alone  in  the  library.  The  walls  piled  with  bookcases,  and  the 
gloomy  circling  gallery  frowned  around  them.  Mr.  De  Groot 
placed  himself  in  his  study-chair  and  motioned  Mary  to  her  stool. 
The  fire  was  expiring  in  the  grate,  and  a  solitary  burner  in  a 
chandelier  of  Berlin  iron,  which  represented  a  mass  of  shields, 
swords,  spears,  and  other  weapons,  offensive  and  defensive,  cast  a 
cold  light  upon  her  virgin  drapery.  The  meaning  of  this  was 
that  her  father  had  first  observed  her  abstinences,  then  suspected 
that  she  went  to  mass,  next  had  watched  to  see,  and  that  morning 
from  his  window  had  perceived  her  exit,  (being  too  late  to  prevent 
it)  observing  her  come  out  of  the  side-door,  join  her  humble  friends 
under  the  street-lamp,  and  hie  away. 

*'  You  are  treacherous,  ungrateful,  and  unfilial,"  said  her  father, 
after  stating  these  circumstances.  "  After  all  my  indulgence — 
my  readiness  to  gratify  your  least  whim  I  You  asked  to  come 
home  that  you  might  learn,  forsooth,  to  fulfil  your  duty  as  a 
daughter,  and  the  first  thing  in  which  you  are  detected  is  stealing 
away  before  light  to  attend  the  mummeries  of  the  mass,  disap- 
proved and  detested  by  both  your  parents.  I  can  characterize 
such  conduct  but  by  one  word — hypocrisy  I  It  is  of  a  piece,  in- 
deed, with  the  maxims  of  Romanists." 

23 


266 


AL  B AN . 


"  I  am  no  hypocrite,  papa,"  replied  Mary.  "  You  knew  that 
I  had  embraced  the  rehgion  of  my  mother,  and  you  might  infer 
that  I  would  practise  it." 

"  You  have  embraced  a  religion  I  A  chit  of  sixteen  I  a  child 
just  out  of  school,  and  taken  out  too  soon.  Your  religion  is  to 
listen  to  the  advice  of  your  living  parents  and  to  obey  their  com- 
mands," said  her  father,  with  some  violence. 

"  I  am  sixteen  and  six  months,"  replied  Mary,  "  and  Sister 
Theresa  says  that  St.  Catherine  and  St.  Agnes  were  only  thirteen 
when  they  were  martyred.  Father  Smith  says  the  Church  has 
decided  that  when  children  are  old  enough  to  have  faith,  they  are 
bound  to  embrace  the  true  religion  whether  their  parents  consent 
to  it  or  not.  It  is  plain,  papa,  that  I  have  a  right  to  be  baptized," 
she  continued,  with  a  bright  and  sparkling  courage ;  "  and  to  whom 
shall  I  apply  for  baptism  ?  Not  to  mamma's  pastor,  surely  :  he 
would  not  baptize  me,  because  he  would  say  I  had  never  been 
converted.  Not  to  Mr.  Warens,  certainly,  since  he  does  not  be- 
lieve in  the  Trinity.  Oh,  I  must  go  to  the  Church,  of  course — 
there  is  no  other  way  for  me.  And  soon,  papa, — or  else  I  may 
die,  young  as  I  am,  and  lose  Heaven.  And  secretly,  papa," — with 
increasing  spirit, — "  for  you  know  you  would  try  to  prevent  it,  and 
why  should  you  and  I  have  a  fight  about  that  ?" 

Mr.  De  Groot  stared  at  her  with  mingled  astonishment  and 
wrath.   He  grew  almost  livid,  so  that  Mary  began  to  be  frightened.  * 
He  started  up  and  seized  her  wrist.    His  lip  was  flecked  with  a 
slight  foam. 

"  You  defy  me,  do  you  ?  What  hinders  me,  insolent  girl,  from 
inflicting  the  summary  chastisement  such  language  to  your  father 
merits  ?" 

Mary  now  held  her  tongue.  Courageous  as  she  was,  she 
quailed.  Physical  pain  and  fear  subdued  her  partly,  and  partly 
the  moral  agony  of  incurring  what  is  intolerable  to  a  woman's 
feelings,  particularly  to  one  who  had  never,  even  in  childhood, 
known  what  it  was  to  be  so  much  as  threatened  with  corporeal 
punishment.    Her  spirit  rose  again  with  a  rebound. 


ALBAN.  267 

"  It  is  the  first  time,  papa,  you  have  ever  threatened  to  whip 
me — now  that  I  am  a  woman  I" 

He  flung  her  arm  from  him  as  by  a  violent  effort  at  self-control, 
and  resumed  his  seat.  She  glanced  at  her  empurpled  wrist.  This 
violence  was  strangely  contrasted  with  her  graceful  mien  in  her 
party  dress,  a  white  rose  at  her  bosom,  and  buds  of  the  same  with 
rich  green  leaves,  in  her  raven  hair.  Haply  this  modest  elegance 
pled  for  her.    Reproaches  are  sometimes  excuses  in  disguise. 

"  Your  conduct,  Mary,  whatever  you  may  think,  is  a  treason  to 
that  love  which  once  bound  us  together  as  father  and  only  child. 
You  have  wounded  me  in  the  tenderest  point — robbed  me  of  the 
hope  of  years.  From  the  daughter  and  friend  you  have  voluntarily 
sunk  into  a  slave,  doing  things  by  stealth,  abusing  confidence 
reposed  in  you.  You  can  no  longer  be  trusted.  Generous,  delicate 
treatnnent  is  become  inapplicable  to  you.  Harshness,  strict  sur- 
veillance, and  physical  restraint  must  take  their  place." 

"  Papa,  you  wrong  me  indeed,"  replied  his  daughter,  in  a  heart- 
broken tone.  "  Last  fall  you  refused  to  let  me  be  baptized  by  Mr, 
"VYarens.  I  thought  it  was  a  shame  for  such  a  great  girl  to  be 
unbaptized,  but  I  submitted.  Now  I  must  receive  baptism.  I 
believe  it  to  be  necessary  to  salvation.  I  may  die  very  soon.  I 
have  some  reason  to  think  that  the  day  of  my  death  is  at  hand." 

"What  stuff  I"  said  her  father. 

"  Nay,  sir,  hear  my  reasons,"  continued  Maiy.  "  They  may  be 
silly,  but  you  shall  not  accuse  me  any  more  of  want  of  openness." 

She  told  the  story  of  her  dream  plainly  and  M-ithout  a  blush. 

"  And  to  whom  do  you  expect  to  be  married  next  Saturday  ?" 
demanded  her  father. 

"  I  leave  that  to  Heaven,  and  you,  sir.  It  matters  little,  if  I 
am  to  die  immediately  afterwards,"  replied  Mary,  innocently. 

"  I  am  to  conclude,  then,  that  in  anticipation  of  dying  next 
Saturday  you  have  been  baptized  ?  or  is  that  still  future  ?" 

"  Nay,  papa,  I  am  not  so  weak  as  to  be  governed  in  my  con- 
duct by  a  dream.  You  may  be  sure  I  have  not,  when  I  tell  you 
that  Saturday  has  been  appointed  for  my  baptism,  and  that  I  would 


268 


ALB AN. 


not  yield  to  a  superstitious  feeling  so  far  as  to  ask  for  an 
earlier  day." 

These  ingenuous  avowals  had  not  the  effect  which  might  have 
been  expected.  Mr.  De  Groot  surveyed  his  daughter  with  a  look 
of  stone.  What  he  said  partook,  nevertheless,  of  his  characteristic 
composure,  though  broken  by  more  than  one  sudden  burst  of  almost 
inexplicable  passion. 

"  When  you  were  born  at  the  Manor,"  said  he,  "  there  was  no 
Romish  priest  to  be  had  short  of  New  York.  Your  mother,  though 
the  least  ailment  incident  to  infancy  excited  her  anxiety  for  your 
salvation,  was  willing  to  postpone  the  great  remedy  for  the  guilt 
you  had  incurred  by  being  born,  until  it  could  be  administered  with 
all  the  ceremonies.  From  your  birth  till  her  death  I  resided  con- 
stantly at  the  Manor  for  this  very  reason.  Once  a  year  a  priest 
came  up  that  she  might  fulfil  the  obligations  of  her  religion,  and 
then  I  had  to  undergo  a  species  of  martyrdom  to  prevent  your  being 
subjected  to  this  magical  rite  which  was  to  make  your  Maker  cease 
hating  you.  I  was  determined  to  allow  no  incantations  over  my 
innocent  child  I  I  had  to  tell  your  mother,"  said  Mr.  De  Groot, 
with  vehemence,  "  that  a  priest  should  never  cross  my  threshold, 
for  such  a  purpose,  unless  over  my  dead  body."  He  rose  and  re- 
peated it,  as  if  the  words  called  up  the  scene,  and  looking  at  Mary 
as  if  she  were  his  departed  wife,  struck  his  hand  violently  upon  the 
table,  saying  again, — "  never — unless  over  my  dead  body  I"  He  was 
white  as  a  sheet,  and  stared  as  if  he  saw  a  ghost.  Again  he  struck 
the  table  violently.  "  Never  shall  a  popish  priest  enter  my  house 
for  such  a  purpose — unless  over  my  dead  body  !" 

"  Papa  I"  said  Mary. 

He  looked  at  her  wildly,  and  sat  down  again,  glaring  still  ;  his 
hand  trembhng  and  clenching  itself  He  passed  it  through  his  hair 
and  resumed. 

"  When  she  was  dying  I  had  a  priest  sent  for,  to  save  her  from 
the  horror  of  leaving  the  world  without  the  sacraments — a  horror 
which  caused  me  horror.  At  that  time  I  had  a  last  contest  with 
her  on  this  point.   She  said — but  no  matter  for  that  I   Do  you  think 


ALBAN . 


269 


that  after  having  been  deaf  to  her  entreaties  and  wild,  absurd 
threats,  under  such  circumstances,  I  shall  yield  now  to  your  wilful 
fantasies  ?  Do  you  think  it?"  said  her  father,  rising  again,  and 
glaring  at  her.  He  resumed  his  seat.  "  I  shall  take  care  of  you  for 
a  few  days,  as  I  would  if  you  were  out  of  your  senses.  You  fancy 
something  supernatural  has  occurred  to  you  I  At  your  time  of  hfe 
girls  are  subject  to  these  illusions.  I  shall  contrive  it  so  that  you 
get  over  next  Saturday  without  either  wedlock,  or  burial,  or  bap- 
tism. After  that  I  will  talk  to  you  again.  Be  sure  that  I  shall 
not  permit  you,  at  your  inexperienced  age,  to  be  inveigled" —  Mr. 
De  Groot  again  (apparently  because  he  could  not  help  it)  struck  the 
table  Ibrcibly  with  his  hand — *'  inveigled  by  the  arts  of  Romish 
priests^  or  nuns,  into  committing  yourself  to  a  system  of  vile  trum- 
pery and  imposture" — again  his  manner  became  violent — "  of  vile 
trumpery  and  imposture.  Entice  a  girl  of  sixteen — without  the 
knowledge  of  her  parents — to  throw  herself  into  their  detested  sect ! 
A  young  lady  of  fortune — an  heiress  I  Never  was  any  thing  more 
base.  But  they  will  find  in  me  an  older  and  more  determined  op- 
ponent than  they  dream  of" 

A  chasm  had  suddenly  gaped  at  the  daughter's  feet  !  In  the 
father  she  still  loved  next  to  God,  what  new  revelation  of  insane 
violence  and  hate  1  what  a  drear  change  in  their  mutual  relations 
— drear  and  scarce  credible  I  As  soon  as  Mary  really  understood 
it,  she  behaved  in  a  quite  feminine  and  filial  way,  threw  herself  at 
once  at  her  father's  feet  and  implored  his  forgiveness,  if  she  had 
forgotten  the  respect  she  owed  him.  He  bade  her  rise,  and  desired 
her  to  go  to  her  room,  accepting  with  coldness  her  kiss  of  good- 
night. 

In  the  hall  Mary  paused  a  moment,  hesitating  whether  even, 
yet  she  ought  not  to  return  and  humiliate  herself  still  more,  but 
she  glanced  at  the  arm  which  bore  the  mark  of  her  father's 
fingers,  and  catching  up  her  robe  with  feminine  spirit,  flew  up  to 
her  own  apartment.  Here  the  crucifix  recalled  her  quickly  to 
humble  and  patient  thoughts.  Her  humiliations,  however,  were 
not  ended.    While  she  was  yet  kneeling  at  her  mother's  prie-dieu^ 


270  ' 


ALBAN. 


praying  and  meditating  on  the  silent  sufferings  of  the  Lamb  of 
God,  her  stepmother  entered  unbidden.  Our  heroine's  rapt  expres- 
sion, her  large  dark  eyes  fastened  on  the  crucifix,  her  lips  just 
moving,  the  beads  dropping  between  her  slightly  clasped  fingers, 
were  a  picture  of  devotion,  which,  unconscious  as  it  was,  excited 
the  instinctive  disgust  of  Mrs.  J)e  Groot.  Had  any  convenient 
weapon  of  destruction  been  at  hand  she  would  have  dashed  in 
pieces  the  image  which  appeared  to  her  the  object  of  this  worship, 
in  a  transport  of  iconoclastic  rage.  "  Idolatress  I"  was  the  only 
word  she  could  at  first  utter,  Mary  rose,  a  little  astonished  at 
this  new  style,  and  crossing  her  hands  meekly  on  her  breast, 
listened  in  silence  to  such  a  reproof  as  the  indulged  child  had 
never  received  before.  Finally  Mrs.  De  Groot  directed  her 
daughter  in  a  severe  tone  to  read  before  retiring,  the  eleventh 
chapter  of  Hebrews,  and  withdrew,  locking  the  young  lady  in. 
The  philosophy  of  sixteen  could  not  repress  some  tears,  but  it 
was  some  consolation  obediently  to  read  the  chapter  assigned  her, 
where  she  learned  that  the  Patriarch  Jacob  when  dying,  prescient 
of  the  wood  of  the  cross  on  which  the  World's  Salvation  was  to 
hang,  "  adored  the  top  of  his  rod." 


ALB AN . 


271 


CHAPTER  IX. 

An  Irish  girl  came  out  of  the  garden  gate  of  the  great  house 
with  a  bonnetless  head  and  a  pail  of  dirty  water.  Another  girl 
was  passing  and  repassing,  and  watching  from  a  distance.  The 
latter  drew  near,  and  the  two  recognized  each  other. — "  What, 
Ann  Murphy  I  is  that  you  ?" — "  The  Lord  save  you  I  is  it  Marga- 
ret Dolman  ?" — so  they  stopped  and  chatted. 

"  And  sure  it  was  a  dreadful  sin  to  keep  Miss  from  bein'  a 
Christian,"  said  Ann.  "  And  there's  Catharine — that's  the 
chambermaid — she  towld  us  this  morning  that  Miss  was  locked 
up,  and  there  was  a  talk  among  the  servants  that  she  was  wantin' 
to  run  away  with  a  young  gintleman  that  was  here  to  see  her  the 
day  after  she  came  home — a  young  college  gintleman  he  was — 
but  niver  a  sowl  of  us  suspicted  it  was  because  Miss  was  going  to 
be  a  Catholic  like  her  mother.  And  sure  this  very  morning  when 
I  set  her  room  to  rights,  the  cross  and  beads  was  gone.  And  it's 
no  wonder  Miss  looked  as  if  she'd  niver  a  friend  lift  in  the  worrld." 

"  I  don't  believe  she'd  be  for  mindin'  any  thing  at  all,  if  she 
was  only  baptized,"  said  Margaret.  And  to-morrow  morning 
it  was  to  be.  Pity  it  was  not  yesterday,  and  the  divil  himsilf 
couldn't  help  it  now." 

"Troth,  but  its  cruel.  To  think  there'd  be  such  heathens," 
replied  Ann.  "  And  I  would  have  me  clothes  torn  off  me  back 
for  Miss  Mary  any  day,  but  what  can  /  do,  Margaret  dear  ?" 

Here  a  loud  cry  of  "  Ann  !  Ann  I"  from  the  kitchen  windows, 
separated  the  two  girls  in  haste. 

We  have  mentioned  that  Alban  called  upon  his  cousin  Greys. 
t  This  he  did  in  all  his  vacations.  They  lived  in  a  sort  of  clerical 
street  near  old  King's  College — such  a  street  as  nowhere  exists  in 
New  York  now.  Low  half-blinds  softened  the  light  in  the  south- 
ern parlor  and  excluded  the  gaze  of  passers-by.    The  walls  were 


272 


ALBAN. 


hung  with  prints  of  British  battles,  encircled  at  this  festive  season 
with  rich  green  wreaths.  The  Greys  were  kind  to  Alban,  and  a 
good  deal  pleasant er  than  his  Presbyterian  friends  in  his  then  turn 
of  mind.  They  were  great  laughers.  They  laughed  about  Pres- 
byterianism,  and  prophesied  that  he  would  be  a  Churchman. 
They  advised  him,  laughingly,  to  attend  Wednesday  and  Friday 
prayers.  It  impressed  him  so  favorably,  that  the  next  morning,  at 
eleven  o'clock,  he  sauntered  into  St.  Paul's  chapel. 

A  few  High  Church  old  ladies,  mostly  in  weeds,  one  elderly 
gentleman,  a  young  man  looking  forward  to  the  Episcopal  minis- 
try, who  responded  very  loud,  and  the  sexton,  whose  loud  parish- 
clerk  tone  was  heard  in  the  gallery,  constituted  with  our  hero  the 
congregation.  The  small  number  present  scarcely  diminished  the 
impressiveness  of  the  service,  and  rendered  it  perhaps  more  sooth- 
ing. The  fine  old  chapel,  with  its  beautiful  Corinthian  columns 
and  nobly  recessed  chancel,  the  numerous  mural  tablets,  the  high 
pews,  the  lofty  white  pile  of  the  reading-desk,  pulpit,  and  sounding 
board,  all  handsomely  carved,  contributed  to  the  effect.  The  pe- 
culiar, deliberate  sing-song  of  the  rector,  whose  locks  were  already 
prematurely  sprinkled  with  gray,  his  quiet,  yet  interested  air  in 
going  through  the  service,  and  even  the  soft,  regular,  impressive 
gesture  of  his  hand,  that  reposed  on  the  cushion  of  the  desk  in 
reading  the  lessons,  were  singularly  in  harmony  with  all  the  rest. 

"  We  have  here,"  thought  Alban,  "  a  venerable  Church,  a  beau- 
tiful Liturgy,  decorous  forms,  a  sober  piety,  equally  removed  from 
the  extravagances  of  Puritanism  and  the  superstitions  of  Rome. 
I  like  this  notion  of  a  week-day  service.  Even  if  ill-attended,  it 
is  an  impressive  witness  to  the  duty  of  worship  ;  and  to  the  few 
who  gather  here,  how  consoling  I" 

At  that  period  Morning  Prayer  was  read  in  Trinity,  and  its 
two  chapels,  on  Litany  days,  at  the  hour  which  we  have  already 
mentioned.  This  was  all  the  week-day  service  of  a  regular  kind 
in  about  twelve  large  city  parishes  of  the  Episcopal  Church.  This, 
however,  was  an  inestimable  consolation,  as  Alban  observed,  to 
those  who  knew  how  to  appreciate  it.    The  mutual  reciting  of 


ALBAN. 


273 


psalms,  the  reading  of  Scripture  lessons,  the  beautiful  suffrages  of 
the  Litany,  made  an  hour  of  ancient  calm  in  the  vulgar  hurry 
and  noise  of  the  commercial  emporium.  Since  '35,  there  has  been 
a  great  development  in  the  Episcopal  Church,  in  the  way  of  week- 
day services.  We  find  by  the  Churchman  of  the  present  date  that 
seven  churches  of  that  denomination  in  the  city  of  New  York  have 
daily  Morning-Prayer,  and  four  of  these  the  Evening  service  also. 
In  one  there  is  a  weekly  celebration  of  the  Lord's  Supper.  This 
may  seem  little,  considering  that  the  whole  number  of  their 
churches  in  the  city  is  between  thirty  and  forty,  and  of  clergy 
about  seventy,  but  still  it  is  an  increase.  The  week-day  congre- 
gations also  are  larger  than  they  used  to  be  in  the  old  times,  and 
we  are  sorry  to  add  (for  this  thing  ought  to  be  encouraged)  that 
lor  some  two  or  three  years  the  movement  has  been  stationary. 

It  is  hardly  fair  to  Episcopalians,  but  to  excite  them  to  emula- 
tion, we  may  compare  with  this  the  week-day  worship  of  the  Ca- 
tholics in  the  same  city.  In  '35  there  were  but  four  Catholic 
churches,  but  two  masses,  at  least,  were  said  daily  in  each,  eight 
or  nine  in  all,  or  one-third  (perhaps  one-half)  more  services  in  a 
day  than  the  thrice  as  numerous  and  vastly  richer  Episcopal  con- 
gregations sustained  in  a  iceek.  "We  have  not  yet  overtaken  our 
friends  in  the  number  of  churches  or  of  clergy.  Of  the  former 
there  are  only  nineteen  in  New  York,  and  four  convent  chapels  ; 
but  the  number  of  daily  masses  in  this  city  cannot  be  less  than 
fifty,  at  a  considerable  majority  of  which,  if  our  observation  holds, 
there  are  communions.  On  Sundays  and  Festivals  the  commu- 
nions are  large  ;  on  ordinary  days,  of  course,  they  are  smaller. 
Sometimes  you  will  see  one  poor  laborer  go  up  to  the  altar,  or  a 
single  poor  woman.  Some — particularly  servants,  who  cannot  go 
out  at  an  early  hour — communicate  on  Sundays  at  High  mass, 
although  it  obliges  them  to  be  fasting  till  past  noon.  But  be  it 
one  or  more,  rich  or  poor,  High  mass  or  low,  the  rite  is  suspended, 
the  white  linen  is  turned  over  the  rail,  the  confession  is  said,  the 
tabernacle  is  opened,  and  the  people  kneel.  The  things  that  are 
said  are  said  softly,  although  they  are  so  beautiful  that  in  a  Prot- 


274 


ALBAN 


estant  Church  they  would  be  proclaimed  as  with  a  trumpet.  He 
comes  and  departs  almost  in.  silence,  as  of  old  : — He  shall  come 
down  like  rain  njDon  the  fleece,  and  as  showers  falling  gently 
upon  the  earth.  Who  thinks  of  that  unfailing  early,  and  that 
latter,  rain  which  descends  on  the  mountains  of  Israel  ?  Who 
thinks  of  the  fragrance  that  ascends  unceasingly  from  its  humble 
valleys  ? 

If  Alban  had  thought  of  it  at  all,  he  would  have  deemed  the 
murmur  of  the  mass  a  blank  and  little  edifying  substitute  for  the 
intelligible  Common  Prayer.  But  Moses  Jmth  in  every  city  them 
that  preach  him,  being  read  in  the  synagogues  every  Sabbath 
day.  As  Mary  told  him,  what  doth  it  avail  to  read  or  hear  the 
word  written,  while  the  veil  is  on  your  heart  ? 

Our  hero  came  out  of  St.  Paul's  into  the  thronged  Broadway. 
Sights  of  this  world  assail  him  :  a  theatre,  a  museum,  a  Hotel  de 
Ville,  and  "stores"  -without  end  :  hat-stores,  dry-goods-stores,  book- 
stores, any  kind  of  store  you  like  !  On  the  sidewalks  are  ladies 
in  silken  walking-dresses  and  gay  winter-bonnets,  rich  shawls  and 
splendid  cloaks — the  gayest  promenade  in  civilization.  They 
are  shopping — shopping  in  the  Broadway  stores.  It  ought  to  be 
"storing,"  or  else  the  stores  should  be  shops.  Omnibuses,  there 
are  not  many  yet,  but  carriages  and  cabs  not  a  few.  A  line  of 
handsome  ones  extends  along  the  north  side  of  St.  Paul's  :  in 
London  you  would  suppose  they  were  private  equipages.  Then 
in  front  of  the  church,  under  the  protecting  image  of  the  great 
Apostle  in  the  pediment  of  the  portico,  are  ranged  the  contradic- 
tions (in  terms)  of  which  Miss  Sedgwick  took  notice — the  Catho- 
lic Orangemen  with  their  rich  brogue  and  baskets  of  golden  fruit. 
These  are  things  which  have  passed  away  already,  i.  <?.,  the  cabs 
and  the  orangemen  :  for  a  few  years  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic, 
make  antiquity  and  give  us  a  right  to  remember.  But  we  dilly- 
dally here  in  Broadway,  among  the  free  and  loitering  crowd, 
whilst  Mary  De  Groot  is  a  prisoner  in  her  father's  freestone 
palace  :  she  whose  graceful  step  has  made  this  vulgar  flagging 
poetical.    Not  a  square  inch  on  these  sidewalks  but  may  have 


ALB AN. 


275 


been  pressed  by  her  light  foot  ;  not  a  stone  on  that  half-dry 
crossing  on  which  she  may  not  have  stepped.  Even  Alban,.  vi^ith 
conscious  thoughts  of  a  very  different  kind  about  others,  so  far 
worshipped  his  beautiful  and  innocent  mistress  as  to  feel  thus 
about  the  places  where  she  had  been. 

An  elegant  chariot  stopped  before  Marquand's  as  Alban  ap- 
proached that  famous  shop,  and  two  ladies  got  out.  One  of  them 
arrested  her  tripping  step,  and  saluted  him.    It  was  Miss  Clinton. 

"  Are  you  baying  jewelry  this  morning  ?" 

"  Merely  going  to  have -a  cameo  set.  Come  in  and  look  at  it, 
Mr.  Atherton.    It  is  one  I  bought  in  Rome." 

Alban  went  into  the  jeweller's  accordingly :  Miss  Clinton 
produced  the  cameo,  which  was  large,  classic,  and  admirably  cut 
after  an  ancient  terra-cotta.  The  subject  was  the  Flight  of  Helen. 
The  lovers  were  in  a  Greek  chariot  drawn  by  four  spirited  steeds. 
Paris  was  driving,  nude  ;  Helen,  graciously  draped. 

"  It  is  exceedingly  admired,"  said  Miss  Clinton. 

Our  hero  admired  it,  although  he  thought  it  required  some 
hardihood  for  a  young  lady  to  wear  it  on  her  bosom.  Miss  Clin- 
ton told  him  that  her  father  was  going  to  build  on  the  Avenue,  on 
the  square  next  to  Mr.  De  Groot.  Mrs.  Clinton  invited  him  to 
visit  them  in  Broadway,  and  after  some  further  chat,  at  the  in- 
stance of  the  young  lady  he  promised  to  call  that  very  evening. 
Having  handed  them  into  their  carriage  again,  giving  his  circle 
cloak  a  cavalier  sweep,  he  pursued  his  walk  towards  State-street. 
As  he  went  along,  he  drew  a  comparison  between  the  young 
lady  he  had  just  left  and  his  friend  Miss  Ellsworth,  and  this 
brought  to  mind  his  conversation  with  Mary  De  Groot  on  the 
Sound,  and  the  story  of  her  school-days,  which  again,  by  an  asso- 
ciation of  ideas,  recalled  Henrietta  Clinton.  In  such  a  revery,  he 
arrived  at  Mr.  Seixas'  door,  and  after  feeling  for  a  moment  that 
he  had  a  right  to  enter  here  without  notice,  rang  the  bell,  and 
the  sound  of  a  piano  and  female  voice,  which  he  had  previously 
heard,  immediately  ceased, 

Miriam  Seixas  rose  from  the  instrument  at  his  entrance,  and 


276 


A  L  B  A  N  . 


saluted  him  ^vitli  grace.  She  motioned  him  to  the  yellow  di- 
van, and,  after  ringing  the  bell,  took  a  seat  opposite  him  upon 
an  ottoman.  A  moment  after,  a  maiden  of  inferior  aspect,  but 
neatly  attired,  entered  the  room,  and  placed  herself  in  a  corner 
where  she  remained,  silent,  and  almost  unnoticed,  dtiring  Alban's 
stay. 

Notwithstanding  this  etiquette,  Miss  Seixas  was  full  of  affa- 
bility. She  was  even  a  voluble  talker.  She  was  a  musical  en- 
thusiast. The  opera  was  her  chief  passion,  nor  did  she  scorn  the 
ballet.  She  was  a  proficient  in  both  arts.  She  sang  for  Alban 
some  beautiful  Spanish  songs  ;  she  danced  Spanish  and  Moorish 
dances  for  his  amusement  in  the  most  obliging  manner.  Nothing 
more  oriental,  even  in  a  New  York  drawing-room,  than  Miriam 
Seixas  with  the  castanets.  The  virginal  freedom  of  her  move- 
ments partook  of  the  heroic,  revealing  her  noble  figure  in  outlines 
so  grand  and  flowing  as  to  blend  rather  with  feelings  of  religious 
awe  or  patriotic  ardor  than  of  voluptuousness.  She  might  have 
danced  with  her  ancestress  and  namesake  on  the  sands  of  the  Red 
Sea,  or  in  the  procession  of  the  virgins  of  Zion,  before  the  trium- 
phant returning  Ark. 

Nor  was  she  without  serious  thoughts,  such  as  were  not  un- 
worthy of  her  origin,  and  her  frankness  was  unlike  any  thing  he 
had  known.  She  told  Alban  that  there  were  children  of  the  Most 
High  (blessed  be  He)  among  all  nations,  and  in  every  faith  which 
acknowledged  His  unity,  but  Israel,  though  degraded  and  despised, 
was  his  chosen  people.  She  herself  was  not  without  hope  of  being 
at  least  the  ancestress  of  Messiah,  and  would  deem  it  a  misfortune, 
if  not  a  reproach,  to  die  unmarried  or  childless.  She  was  espoused 
to  her  cousin,  a  Hebrew  of  jiure  blood,  whom  she  had  not  seen 
since  she  was  twelve  years  old.  Alban  had  got  upon  this  ground 
by  asking  Miss  Seixas  if  she  would  be  courteous  on  the  morrow  to 
a  young  Christian  lady  whom  he  was  to  bring  with  him  to  witness 
the  synagogue  worship.  Miriam  readily  promised  to  pay  her  every 
attention.  The  young  Jewess  spoke  English  with  perfect  purity, 
but  with  a  foreign  accent. 


AL  B  AN. 


277 


"  It  is  a  high  order  of  character,"  thought  Alban,  returning 
home,  "  but  pecuhar." 

There  was  a  naive  earthliness  about  the  beautiful  Miriam 
that  reminded  our  hero  of  the  old  Greek  spirit.  She  seemed  not 
to  look  beyond  the  grave.  Her  idea  of  her  own  sex  partook  of  the 
ancient  depreciating.- estimate.  She  was  the  handmaid  of  man, 
and  aspired  to  norhigher  destiny  than  that  which  nature  had 
written  iti  such  exquisite  characters  on  her  very  form.  The  chastity 
which  breathed  like  a  natural  fragrance  in  all  the  language  and 
manners  of  the  young  Jewess  seemed  to  Alban  quite  different 
from  the  same  quality  in  the  purest  Christian  maidens  whom  he 
had  known.  It  was  not  the  pride  which  in  his  Puritan  kinswomen 
scorned  to  defile  an  imagined  sanctity  ;  still  less  the  humble  vigil- 
ance with  which  Mary  De  Groot  w-atched  over  what  she  seerried 
to  regard  as  a  sacred,  though  scarce  understood,  deposit  intrusted 
to  her  care  ;  but  simply  the  native  reserve  of  her  sex,  which  the 
culture  of  a  law  extending  to  the  minutest  points  of  female  conduct 
had  developed  into  a  moral  habit.  Her  openness  again  was  dif- 
ferent from  Mary's,  being  a  matter  of  familiarity,  while  the  latter's 
sprang  from  ignorance  :  for  Mary's  child-like  candor  (it  required 
little  penetration  to  see)  arose  from  her  comprehending,  indeed 
very  well,  what  was  the  virtue  which  she  practised,  but  not  having 
the  least  idea  wherein  consisted  the  vice  which  she  abhorred. 
Thus  our  hero  felt  that  something  was  wanting — a  trait  of  spiritual 
beauty — in  what  was  else  so  worthy  of  admiration.  Alban  could 
not  divest  himself  of  his  Christianity,  do  what  he  would.  The 
character  which  baptism  had  impressed  was  not  to  be  effaced. 

But  the  passion  which  the  first  sight  of  Miriam  had  awakened, 
was  strengthened  by  all  that  he  observed  at  this  interview  ;  and 
even  her  betrothal  to  a  distant,  scarce  known  cousin,  was  a 
circumstance  which  inflamed  it,  by  means  of  the  jealous  anxiety 
which  it  excited. 

After  quitting  Miss  Seixas,  Alban  returned  home  to  dinner,  and 
it  happened  that  on  that  day  his  mother's  uncle.  Bishop  Grey, 
whom  we  met  some  dozen  years  before  at  Yanmouth,  was  his 


278 


ALBAN. 


father's  guest.  The  bishop  had  become  a  most  venerable  florid  old 
gentleman,  adhering  to  his  knee-buckles,  &c.,  and  with  long  silver 
locks  streaming  down  upon  his  shoulders. 

Bishop  Grey  partook  of  some  boiled  bass  and  oysters,  and  after- 
wards was  helped  twice  to  roast  turkey,  which  some  may  deem  a 
luxurious  Friday  dinner  for  a  bishop  ;  but  "  the  measure  of  absti- 
nence especially  suited  to  extraordinary  acts  and  exercises  of  de- 
votion" (as  the  prayer-book  luminously  expresses  it)  may  vary 
greatly  in  individuals.  Dr.  Grey  was  a  fervent  evangelical,  and 
conversed  with  unction  on  the  subject  of  personal  religion  with 
Mrs.  Atherton.  At  the  same  time  he  was  a  great  enemy  of  Cal- 
vinism, and  defended  Baptismal  regeneration,  although  in  a  timid 
way,  as  conscious  of  the  unpopularity  of  the  tenet.  The  good 
bishop  in  fact  had  a  High  Church  head  and  a  Low  Church  heart, 
and  that  we  take  to  be  the  perfection  of  an  Episcopal  clergyman.' 
When  the  table-cloth  had  been  removed,  with  some  old  Madeira, 
and  a  decanter  of  fine  port  before  him,  he  became  witty  and  con- 
versational, told  anecdotes  of  the  Revolution  strongly  smacking 
of  Toryism,  and  gently  dissected  the  Puritans,  to  Alban's  great 
delight  and  the  hearty  amusement  of  his  father,  who  had  small 
sympathy  for  religionists  of  any  creed.  There  was  a  keen  yet 
calm  fire  in  the  old  prelate's  eye,  as  he  delivered  himself  of  the  well- 
arranged  and  sweet-toned  sentences,  not  unconscious  of  his  own 
witty  facility.  Tea  was  over  before  Alban  remembered  his 
promise  to  call  on  the  Clintons,  as  well  as  the  necessity  of  learning 
from  Mary  De  Groot  at  what  hour  next  morning  it  would  please 
her  that  he  should  come  with  a  carriage  to  take  her  to  the  Syna- 
gogue. 

The  hand  of  Providence  was  quietly  guiding  our  hero  along. 
He  found  the  ladies  of  Mr.  Clinton's  family  in  a  state  of  affliction 
for  which  he  was  not  prepared.  Mother  and  daughter  were  both 
in  tears,  and  could  not  disguise  their  distress  from  the  young 
visitor.  He  feared  to  ask  the  cause.  Bankruptcy  or  a  death 
could  alone  account  for  such  visible  grief  He  rather  insinuated 
than  openly  addressed  an  inquiry  to  Miss  Clinton. 


ALBAN. 


279 


"Would  you  believe,  Mr.  Atherton,"  cried  Henrietta,,  "that 
papa  has  declared  himself  a  Catholic  I  He  has  been  one  all  along, 
without  our  knowing  it.  It  has  come  upon  us  now  like  a  thun- 
derbolt." 

"  Well,"  thought  Alban,  "  I  could  have  told  you  this  morning." 

"  He  has  been  Jesuitically  concealing  his  sentiments  from  me 
ever  since  we  were  married,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clinton.  "  But 
they  think  deception  is  right,  you  know." 

It  appeared  on  further  inquiry  that  when  Mrs.  Clinton  was 
married  she  supposed  her  husband  to  be  indifferent  to  all  religion, 
"  like  most  men  of  the  world."  He  had  taken  a  pew  in  Trinity, 
and  subsequently  in  Grace  church,  and  had  even  been  talked  of 
for  vestryman.    It  was  an  aggravated  case, 

"  Papa  expresses  a  great  deal  of  sorrow  for  having  deceived 
us,"  said  Henrietta,  (a  curious  expression  on  h-er  part,)  "  but  what 
reparation  is  that  now  ?" 

"  After  all,"  observed  Alban,  consolingly,  and  taking  his 
usual  high  religious  tone,  "  is  it  not  better  that  Mr.  Clinton  should 
be  a  good  Catholic  than  nothing  at  all  ?" 

"  You  do  not  understand  it,  Mr.  Atherton.  Papa  is  going  to 
take  the  children  (not  me,  be  sure,)  away  from  Grace  church — 
from  among  people  of  our  own  class — to  that  horrid  St.  Patrick's, 
crowded  by  all  the  low  Irish  !" 

"  To  think  of  my  girls  being  taken  to  confession  I  And  Mr. 
Clinton  says  they  must  be  brought  up  Catholics  from  this  day 
forward." 

'*  /  will  never  go  to  confession,"  cried  Henrietta,  with  spirit, 
"to  be  asked  insulting  questions  by  an  unmarried  man  I" 

"Is  that  the  case?"  inquired  Alban,  thinking  immediately 
of  Mary. 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Atherton,  if  you  have  any  influence,  as  is  gen- 
erally supposed,  with  an  amiable  young  friend  of  ours,"  said  Mrs. 
Clinton,  "  I  do  hope  you  will  use  it  to  prevent  her  from  exposing 
herself  to  what  must  be  so  shocking  to  lemale  delicacy.  The 
books  which  are  put  into  the  hands  of  young  ladies  to  read  in 


280 


ALB AN . 


preparing  for  confession  (for  I  have  read  them  myself)  are  not  fit 
for  the  eye  of  any  virtuous  and  innocent  young  person.  And  it 
is  upon  these  dehcate  subjects  that  they  must  communicate  in 
private  with  priests,  who,  as  Henrietta  says,  are  not  married,  and 
it  is  not  uncharitable  to  suppose,  few  of  them  correct." 

"  It  is  a  sad  thing,"  said  Alban,  warmly.  "  Have  you  placed 
the  matter  in  that  light  before  Mr.  Clinton,  ma'am  ?" 

"  You  might  as  well  talk  to  the  wind,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton. 

"To  the  wind  I"  echoed  Henrietta. 

Alban  remembered  his  appointment  with  Mary  De  Groot. 
He  must  keep  it,  and  yet  he  must  endeavor  to  remonstrate  with 
her,  if,  as  he  suspected,  this  morning  expedition  of  hers  tended  to 
something  very  different  from  the  Synagogue.  Mrs.  Clinton  and 
her  daughter  both  thanked  him  warmly  for  his  sympathy,  and 
begged  him  to  call  again  very  soon.  He  was  hurrying  through  the 
basement  hall,  when  a  servant  advanced  and  requested  him  to 
step  for  a  moment  into  his  master's  study.  Although  annoyed  at 
this  detention,  he  could  not  well  refuse.  It  was  the  back  base- 
ment room,  neatly  furnished  with  bookcases,  a  study-table,  study- 
lamp,  and  cheerful  fire.  J\lr.  Clinton  had  a  happy  look,  although 
his  manner  was  more  grave  than  ordinary.  He  did  not  keep  his 
visitor  long  in  suspense.  Not  to  keep  the  reader  in  suspense  either, 
it  was  about  ]Mary  De  Groot's  intention  of  baptism  that  Mr.  Clin- 
ton wished  to  speak.  Alban  had  not  heard  of  it,  which  a  little 
surprised  him.  He  had  heard  it  from  the  bishop,  who  had  asked 
if  he  knew  the  family.  It  seemed  that  Miss  De  Groot  was  not  at 
church  as  usual  in  the  morning,  and  a  suspicion  was  entertained 
that  her  intentions  had  either  been  discovered  by  her  parents,  or 
voluntarily  communicated  to  them,  and  that  she  was  consequently 
under  restraint. 

"  Ah  ?"  said  Alban,  in  a  tone  that  implied,  "What  business  is 
it  of  mine  ?" 

"  I  have  no  right  to  interfere,  of  course,"  pursued  Mr.  Clinton, 
"  Mr.  De  Groot  would  brook  my  meddhng  in  his  family  concerns 
as  little  as  I  would  his  in  mine.    At  the  same  time,  I  thought  it 


ALLAN. 


281 


my  duty  to  do  what  I  could,  and,  if  possible,  induce  you  to  use 
your  influence,  which  is  considerable  in  a  certain  quarter,  I  have 
reason  to  think,  to  obtain  for  our  estimable  young  friend  the  free 
exercise  of  her  religion." 

"Miss  De  Groot  has  a  right  to  be  baptized,"  said  Alban. 
"  That  is  incontestable  ;  and  I  should  regard  it  as  a  manifest 
wrong  in  any  one  to  attempt  to  prevent  her.  At  the  same  time, 
Mr.  Clinton,  I  must  say,  that  I  should  not  be  inclined,  even  if  T 
had  the  power,  to  further  a  step  which,  in  the  way  she  means  to 
take  it,  is  to  commit  her  so  early  in  hfe  to  the  system  of  your 
Church,  objectionable  as  I  fear  it  is  in  ways  of  which  she  probably 
has  no  idea.    Pardon  my  frankness." 

Mr.  Clinton  bowed,  disappointed,  but  giving  the  matter  up. 

"  I  do  not  mean  that  I  consider  -the  Church  of  Rome  anti- 
Christian  or  idolatrous,"  pursued  Alban,  rising.  "  I  have  none  of 
those  bigoted  notions,  Mr.  Chnton,  My  objection  is  a  practical 
one  altogether,  founded  on  what  appears  the  necessarily  evil  influ- 
ence of  the  confessional,  and  its  degrading  danger  to  a  young  and 
innocent  woman — and  on  what  is  said  with  aj)parent  probability 
of  the  personal  character  of  the  Roman  priesthood,  with  whom 
this  institution  brings  every  member  of  your  Church  into  so  close 
intercourse.    Pardon  me  again." 

"  Stay  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  Clinton.  "  If  I  could  convince 
you,  Mr.  Atherton,  that  these  objections  are  utterly  without  founda- 
tion— would  you  use  your  influence  in  favor  of  your  young  friend's 
liberty  of  conscience  ?" 

"  I  have  little  time  to  spare  at  present,"  said  Alban. 

"  A  quarter  of  an  hour  is  all  I  ask,"  responded  Mr.  Chnton. 

Alban  could  not  refuse  a  quarter  af  an  hour  to  be  convinced 
of  so  much. 

"Perhaps  you  will  be  disappointed  by  what  I  have  to  say.  It 
is  only  to  state  facts  observed  by  myself  If  the  confessional  be 
what  Protestants  suppose,  how  is  it  that  Catholic  females  of  all 
classes  of  society,  married  women  and  single,  mothers  and  young 
maidens  in  the  bloom  of  modesty,  but  especially  those  who  excel 

24* 


282 


ALBAN. 


ill  piety,  Mr.  Atherton,  consider  it  as  the  greatest  means  of  sancti- 
fjcation,  and  the  greatest  security  for  an  unblemished  life  ?  Do 
you  suppose  that  all  these  Catholic  women  and  ladies  are  corrupt, 
tolerant  of  insult,  and  devoid  of  self-respect?" 

"  There  is  great  force  in  that,"  replied  Alban,  with  his  wonted 
candor, 

"  How  is  it  that  Catholic  women  always  entertain  an  exalted 
opinion  of  the  goodness,  and  very  frequently  of  the  sanctity,  of  their 
own  confessor  ?  For  it  is  a  fact  that  they  do.  I  have  heard  priests 
accused  by  their  female  penitents  of  severity,  of  impatience  in 
listening  to  confessions,  which  are  often  of  a  tiresome  and  useless 
character,  or  of  being  prosy  themselves,  but  never  once  did  I  hear 
a  complaint  of  being  rudely  or  improperly  questioned.  Priests  are 
generally  prudent  men,  to  say  the  least,  with  a  perfect  knowledge 
of  what  is  expected  of  them.  The  morals  of  the  confessional,  and 
its  proprieties,  are  well  understood,  and  are  rigidly  enforced  by  the 
law  of  the  Church.  And  what  is  more,  Mr.  Atherton,  a  consid- 
erable number  of  our  clergy — quite  enough  to  raise  the  tone  of 
the  whole  body — are  saint-like  men,  whose  whole  lives  are  passed 
in  the  presence  of  God.  It  is  such  who  are  always  sought  after 
as  confessors." 

"I  can  understand,"  said  Alban,  "that  it  must  be  as  you  say." 

"  I  am  not  willing  to  stop  there,"  continued  Mr.  Clinton,  flush- 
ing slightly,  although  his  manner  was  calm.  "  I  am  certain  that 
the  confessional  is  an  immense  safeguard  to  the  purity  of  both 
sexes.  You  must  bear  in  mind,  Mr.  Atherton,  at  what  age  chil- 
dren begin  confession.  It  is  at  about  eight  or  nine  years.  Now 
every  body  must  see  that  a  child  of  that  age  could  only  be  bene- 
fited by  being  questioned  prudently  and  in  private  by  a  grave  and 
perhaps  aged  clergyman,  on  the  subject  of  any  sins  into  which  it 
may  be  .liable  to  fall.  Imagine  an  experienced  pastor,  who  is 
famiUar  with  the  heart,  hearing  the  sincere  confessions  of  two  or 
three  hundred  boys  and  girls  of  that  age.  Of  course  he  will  know 
how  to  ascertain  whether  they  are  conscious  of  any  offence  against 
modesty,  in  act  or  word,  without  suggesting  to  their  minds  any 


ALB AN . 


283 


thing  of  which  they  are  happily  ignorant.  You  know  better  than 
I  do,  in  what  ways  Protestant  children  of  both  sexes  corrupt 
themselves  and  each  other  at  so  early  a  period  of  life.  But  sup- 
puse  they  knew  they  must  tell  every  immodest  word  or  action 
they  say  or  commit  to  the  minister 

"Ah,"  exclaimed  Alban,  "would  that  I  had  felt  such  a  re- 
straint pressing  upon  me  when  a  boy  I" 

"  There  it  is  I  Catholic  boys,  and,  above  all,  Catholic  girls, 
learn  at  a  very  early  age  to  avoid  such  things.  The  shame  of 
confessing  them  is  too  great.  Hence,  as  they  get  older,  they  are 
able  to  resist  in  the  same  way  the  first  beginnings  of  more  serious 
sins  against  purity.  The  vile  secret  habits  from  which,  I  am 
credibly  informed,  not  one  Protestant  boy  in  a  hundred  is  free,  are 
comparatively  unknown  among  Catholic  youth." 

"  Are  they  indeed  ?" 

Mr.  Clinton  told  several  stories  illustrative  of  the  singular  in- 
nocence of  Irish  Catholics  of  both  sexes,  even  at  mature  age. 
Whatever  else  they  proved,  they  proved  that  the  confessional  had 
not  tainted  such  people's  minds  with  premature  knowledge. 

"  Why,  it  is  the  complaint  of  our  old  Irish  people  that  the 
children  in  this  country  know  what  married  people  hardly  know 
in  Ireland.  A  young  man  of  twenty-five,  butler  in  a  wealthy 
family,  left  his  place  because  his  young  mistress  offered  him  a  kiss. 
No  mortal  would  ever  have  known  it,  if  he  had  not  told  his  priest. 
What  compelled  this  Hibernian  Joseph  to  act  thus  ?  Faith,  Mr. 
Atherton,  and  the  fear  of  committing  mortal  sin  : — the  last  instilled 
by  the  peculiar  and  silent  operation  of  the  confessional.  A  beau- 
tiful young  woman  of  twenty  (I  knew  this  case  personally)  a 
daughter  of  the  people,  but  intelligent  beyond  her  class,  for  she 
had  been  instructed  in  the  day-school  of  the  Sisters  of  Mercy  in 
Cork,  a  gay,  affectionate  creature,  married  a  Protestant  in  this 
j  country,  away  from  her  mother.  She  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
going  weekly  to  confession,  and  twice  a  week  to  communion  ;  she 
had  once  made  a  sort  of  resolution  never  to  marry  ;  you  would 
not  suspect  her  of  not  knowing  what  her  new  duties  were  ;  yet 


284 


A  L  B  A  N  . 


SO  it  was  :  and  distrusting  her  bridegroom's  representations,  after 
a  painful  struggle  with  herself,  her  love  of  jDurity  and  resolution 
to  maintain  it  being  stronger  than  virgin  shame,  she  flies  to  her 
priest — an  aged  man — and  tells  him  all." 

"  Beautiful  I"  said  Alban.  "  I  should  like  to  have  been  cor- 
rupted in  the  same  way  myself." 

"  There  have  been  bad  priests,  and  the  tribunal  of  penance  has 
been  abused,  like  every  thing  good,"  said  the  Catholic  layman, 
*'  but  that  does  not  prevent,  Mr,  Atherton,  that  one  great  motive 
of  my  return  to  the  Church,  is  my  desire  to  secure  its  advantages 
for  my  young  sons  and  daughters.  And  one  thing  you  may  depend 
upon,  that  if  any  thing  can  arrest  the  torrent  of  licentiousness 
which  threatens  to  undermine  the  whole  fabric  of  society  in  this 
country,  it  is  this  very  institution.  I  was  tossed  about  a  great 
deal  in  my  youth,  and  have  consequently  seen  a  great  many  coun- 
tries, and  I  know  that  in  every  land  where  the  confessional  has 
been  laid  aside,  the  common  people  are  fearfully  corrupt.  Want  of 
chastity  is  the  shameful  mark  of  Protestant  nations  as  compared 
with  Catholic.  North  Germany  and  Sweden,  in  this  respect,  are 
infinitely  below  Italy  and  Austria.  England  and  Scotland  are 
not  fit  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same  breath  with  poor,  ignorant, 
down-trodden  and  degraded  Ireland.  As  for  America,"  added 
Mr.  Clinton,  "  they  say  (you  know  best)  that  there  is  great' 
purity  of  morals  in  New  England." 

"  We  will  discuss  that  on  another  occasion,"  said  Alban,  rising, 
"  but  now  I  must  really  go." 

"  I  have  said  nothing  yet,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Clinton.  "  I  have 
not  told  you,  for  instance,  how  edifying  confession  is  ;  how  advice 
comes  home  in  that  sanctuary  of  conscience,  where  your  adviser 
knows  what  you  are,  for  your  own  good,  and  brings  a  vast  experi- 
ence, and  the  rules  of  a  science  perfected  by  saints,  to  bear  upon 
your  precise  case.  Let  me  tell  you,  Mr.  Atherton,  since  you 
seem  so  sincere,  that  to  one  who  knows  the  comfort  and  solidity  of 
this  system,  Protestant  religion  seems  the  most  dreary  sham." 

Alban  hurried  away  to  the  Fifth  Avenue.    It  was  past  nine 


ALBAN. 


285 


o'clock,  but,  luckily,  the  distance  was  not  great.  The  interview 
with  Mr,  Clinton  had  produced  a  complete  revolution  in  his  mind, 
but  one  which  had  been  for  some  time  preparing.  Pledged 
already  to  aid  Mary  on  the  morrow,  he  now  resolved,  or  rather,  he 
was  anxious,  to  do  so  in  the  most  effectual  manner. 

Our  heroine,  still  a  prisoner  in  her  room,  was  agreeably  inter- 
rupted in  her  reading  by  her  stepmother's  entering  and  bidding 
her  come  down  stairs.  Mr.  Atherton  was  there,  and  had  asked 
for  her. 

The  young  lady  appeared  in  the  drawing-room  cheerful  and 
self-possessed  as  if  she  had  been  a  domestic  idol,  and  sat  down 
with  her  work  at  the  centre-table.  The  conversation  ran  pleas- 
antly till  ten  o'clock.  Young  Atherton  asked  for  some  music,  and 
Miss  De  Groot  played  and  sang  with  gayety  and  spirit — 

"  She's  married  the  carl  wi'  a  sack  o'  siller, 
And  broken  the  heart  o'  the  poor  barley  miller." 

A  servant  brought  in  wine,  cake,  and  fruit,  and  Atherton,  de- 
clining the  hospitality,  rose  to  depart. 

"  What  a  short  evening  you  make  of  it  by  coming  so  late,  Mr. 
Alban.  Pray,  the  next  time  you  call  on  me,  come  at  six  o'clock 
instead  of  nine,"  said  Miss  De  Groot,  carelessly  putting  aside  her 
work. 

*'  I  will  be  punctual  to  the  minute.  Miss  Mary,"  replied  the 
young  man,  with  a  patronizing  smile.  Mary  was  not  given  to 
shaking  hands,  but  whenever  she  did  go  through  that  ceremony 
she  did  it  honestly  and  cordially.  Alban,  on  the  contrary,  had  a 
timid,  girlish  way  of  giving  the  end  of  his  fingers  to  a  lady.  It 
was  a  trait,  like  the  satin  softness  of  the  palm  and  tips  themselves. 
But  he  really  had  muscle  under  all  that  velvety  surface,  and  Mary 
De  Groot,  saying  "  Good  night,  Mr.  Alban,"  felt  an  iron  grasp 
which  almost  made  her  cry  out. 

Alban,  then,  brave  and  faithful  friend,  would  come  for  her  in 
the  morning,  but  how  she  was  to  leave  her  room  was  as  great  a 
ir7stery  as  ever,  when  her  stepmother  locked  her  in  as  on  the 


286 


ALB AN . 


preceding  night.  Still  she  prayed  fervent]}^  without  the  crucifix 
and  beads  of  which  she  had  been  vainly  deprived,  and  undressed 
herself  singing  hymns.  She  was  full  of  courage,  for  she  had  no 
will  but  the  will  of  God.  "When  she  threw  open  the  bedclothes, 
a  dark  object  caught  her  eye.  It  was  a  key  I  Those  Irish  girls  ! 
She  wept  for  joy. 


ALB AN . 


2S7 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  poor  heathen  father  who  was  determined  to  keep  his 
daughter  from  the  arms  of  Christ,  was  a  restless  being  that  night. 
The  devil  who  had  possession  of  him  tormented  him  grievously, 
and  knowing  that  the  believing  maiden  would  else  certainly  es- 
cape, compelled  him  at  last  to  rise  from  his  bed,  don  his  garments, 
and  descend  into  tjae  library  to  watch,  lest  his  child  should  defy 
the  polished  bolts  of  her  chamber  doors,  and  come  forth,  according 
to  her  departed  mother's  prediction,  to  wed  a  heavenly  bridegroom 
and  be  buried  with  Him  in  the  waters  where  the  old  Adam  ex- 
pires. Eugene  De  Groot  had  a  feeling  that  he  was  contending 
with  the  dead, — that  the  mother  and  he,  who  had  once  before 
struggled  for  the  soul  of  their  child,  were  now  again  antagonists. 
He  swore  that  he  would  maintain  his  paternal  rights  against  the 
grave  itself  Yet  he  could  not  but  fear  his  viewless  and  loving 
foe,  one  of  whose  prayers,  perhaps,  could  crush  him  in  an  in- 
stant. 

Mr.  De  Groot  had  a  single  candle,  and  he  paced  his  library 
with  both  doors  thrown  open.  One  of  these  looked  into  the  lobby 
of  the  private  stair,  the  other  into  the  hall  near  the  foot  of  the 
great  staircase.  There  was  a  couch  in  the  library — a  green  leather 
couch,  and,  when  he  became  fatigued,  he  lay  down  on  it  to  think 
and  listen.  His  eye  fastened  on  the  iron  chandelier  of  trophies 
hanging  black  and  flameless  over  his  study  table.  Towards  five 
o'clock  he  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  that  his  daughter  had  eloped 
with  young  Atherton — not  to  be  baptized,  but  married  clandes- 
tinely. All  the  possible  causes  of  such  a  step  blended  themselves 
confusedly  in  his  dream,  gathering  vividness  from  reminiscences 
of  his  own  wilful  youth  and  Henrietta  Chnton's  indelicate  behavior 
at  school.  He  heard  their  carriage  wheels  rolling  before  him  in 
the  dark,  while  he  himself,  "afoot,  pursued  the  phantom  fugitives. 


288 


ALB AN . 


He  awoke.  The  sound  of  wheels  was  certainly  in  his  ear.  He 
rushed  out  into  the  hall,  where  a  taper  on  a  tripod  gave  a  feeble 
light.  There  was  the  broad,  oaken  staircase,  with  its  green  bronzes 
and  flameless  lamps  casting  monstrous  shadows  on  the  wall,  and 
he  beheld,  slowly  descending  the  highest  flight,  a  figure  like  a 
bride,  veiled,  and  in  white,  which  now  passed  behind  the  bronzes, 
and  now  came  gleaming  into  view.  Was  it  a  bridal  veil,  or  the 
garments  of  the  grave  ?  Was  it  Mary  from  her  bolted  chamber, 
or  Mary's  mother  from  beneath  the  willow  of  the  cathedral 
church-yard  ? 

Mr.  De  Groot  had  been  laying  plans  all  night  against  the  very 
occurrence  which  had  now  taken  place,  yet  the  actual  sight  of  his 
daughter  escaped  from  a  room  where  he  believed  her  to  be  under 
lock  and  key,  smote  him  with  terror.  Your  skeptic  is  proverbially 
open  to  superstition.  This  rationahst  believed  that  he  saw  the 
spirit  of  his  Roman  Catholic  wife.  Gliding  down  the  last  flight 
of  the  stair,  Mary  necessarily  approached  him  ;  her  features  re- 
vealed themselves  distinctly  ;  and  the  eyes  of  the  father  and 
daughter  met. 

"  Whither  are  you  going,  my  child  ?"  said  the  patroon,  whose 
knees  knocked  together. 

"  To  church,  my  father." 

*'  At  this  hour  I  in  this  guise  I" 

"  Mr.  Alban  Atherton  waits  with  a  carriage  at  the  door." 

So  saying  she  offered  her  father  a  mantle,  which  lay  across 
her  arm,  to  place  it  on  her  shoulders.  He  mechanically  complied. 
She  drew  the  capuchin  over  her  head.  Her  mien  was  lull  of 
womanly  dignity,  which  seemed  to  rise  higher  under  the  outrages 
it  had  received.  And  the  name  of  Alban  at  that  moment  was  a 
powerful  support,  as  Mary  herself  felt.  It  is  one  thing  to  be  de- 
spotic with  a  daughter,  and  another  to  quarrel  with  a  stranger  to 
your  hearth.  Nothing  bends  a  purpose,  however  violent,  (if  it  be 
unjust,  unbecoming,  or  violent,)  like  the  certainty  that  it  is  to  pass 
under  the  judgment  of  a  person  whose  impartial  and  accurate  es- 
timate of  conduct  you  know.    The  fairness  of  Alban' s  mind,  his 


ALB  AN 


289 


calm,  sweet  temper,  and  a  certain  solidity  in  his  moral  constitu- 
tion, which  gave  this  fme,  smooth  edge  an  irresistible  force,  pro- 
tected Mary  without  his  presence.  Mr.  De  Groot  had  himself 
made  young  Atherton  master  of  the  situation  ;  he  had  exhausted 
the  force  of  his  own  will  during  the  night  upon  an  impalpable  ob- 
stacle, and  now  he  was  led,  like  the  fierce  As.syrian,  "  by  a  hook 
in  the  nose,"  to  do  the  very  thing  which  he  had  said  a  thousand 
times  he  would  never  suffer  to  be  done.  He  accompanied  his 
daughter  down  to  the  lower  hall,  took  his  hat  and  cloak  from  a 
hall-stand,  composed  of  huge  antlers  of  deer,  and  opened  the  ves- 
tibule doors.  She  fluttered  down  the  broad  stone  steps  to  the 
gas-lit  pavement.  Directly  in  front  at  the  curb-stone  stood  a  car- 
riage, and  several  persons.  Young  Atherton  advanced  a  step  or 
two,  rather  haughty  and  business-like.  Mr.  De  Grroot  half  ex- 
pected to  see  the  point  of  a  rapier  protruding  beneath  his  young 
friend's  Spanish  cloak.  But  Mary  tripped  forward,  as  if  she  had 
been  going  to  a  party,  and  sprang  into  the  carriage  unassisted. 
With  feminine  promptitude  she  decided  several  questions  which 
might  have  created  difficulty. 

"  Get  in,  Margaret,"  she  said,  "  and  sit  by  me.  Get  in,  Mr. 
Alban,  and  sit  opposite  me.    Now,  papa  I" 

The  coachman  closed  the  carriage-door  and  mounted  the  box. 
Mrs.  Dolman  was  left  standing  on  the  sidewalk,  Mary  directed 
her  to  get  up  with  the  driver,  and  they  set  off. 

Every  minute  or  so  a  bright  gas-hght  shone  in  at  one  or  the 
other  window,  showing  the  faces  of  the  party  within  the  carriage 
to  each  other.  Margaret  Dolman's  countenance,  being  that  of  a 
stranger,  naturally  attracted  Mr.  De  Groot's  attention.  It  pos- 
sessed no  rich  physical  beauty  or  fine  intellectual  traits — still  less 
that  rare  combination  of  both  which  made  his  daughter  bear  off 
the  palm  even  among  the  lovely  ;  but  it  Avas  marked  by  the 
sweetness  and  purity  pecuhar  to  practical  Catholics  in  that  rank 
of  life.  It  is  the  tna.muetudo  Christi,  and  often  infuses  its  own 
gentleness  into  the  heart  of  the  beholder  unawares.  Some  reflec- 
tion of  it  speedily  softened  the  sternness  of  Atherton's  glance, 

26 


290 


ALBAN. 


"which  at  first  said  very  plainly  that  he  had  come  to  do  a  certain 
thing,  and  meant  to  do  it,  let  what  would  betide.  Mr.  De  Groot 
even  yet  wondered  what  that  certain  thing  precisely  was,  and 
why  Atherton  had  intervened.  No  one  spake  till  the  carriage 
stopped  at  the  back  entrance  of  the  cathedral,  when  Miss  De 
Groot  let  down  the  glass,  and  called  for  Mrs.  Dolman.  Neither 
of  the  gentlemen  said  aught,  for  neither  knew  what  was  to  come 
next.  The  coachman — a  Paddy — helped  the  good  woman  down 
with  tender  care. 

**  Go  into  the  vestry,  please,  my  good  Mrs.  Dolman,"  said  Mary, 
sweetly,  "  and  let  Father  Smith  know  that  we  are  here."  The 
old  woman  went  up  the  creaking  wooden  steps  and  disappeared  in 
the  hurricane  porch.  Alban  and  Mr.  De  Groot  successively  bent 
forward  and  looked  out  of  the  carriage  window  at  the  church. 
Neither  could  fail  to  notice  those  singular  adjuncts  of  the  pile — 
the  wooden  lean-to,  the  boarded  porch,  and  its  rickety  steps.  All 
gave  a  notion  of  poverty  and  temporary  shifts,  which  excited  the 
contempt  of  the  magnificent  Anglo-Dutch  patrician,  but  impressed 
Alban's  imagination  more  than  the  elegance  and  ecclesiastical 
dignity  of  St.  Paul's  chapel.  Was  this  the  religion  for  the  sake 
of  which,  long  ages  ago,  in  the  dawn  of  its  mysterious  power, 
maidens  of  rank  and  wedded  wives  quitted  before  day  the  palaces 
of  their  consular  fathers  and  husbands,  to  assist,  in  the  dark  re- 
cesses of  the  catacombs,  at  a  rite  universally  execrated,  yet  pure 
and  holy  ? 

Under  no  aspect  could  Alban  regard  the  poor  shabby  cathe- 
dral with  contempt.  He  could  not  look  without  emotions  of 
inquisitive  awe  upon  one  of  the  local  centres  and  radiating  points 
of  an  influence  pervading  the  earth  which  some  thought  divine 
and  others  diabolical,  but  which  all  admitted  to  be,  in  one  sense 
or  the  other,  supernatural.  In  this  unsightly  edifice  was  the 
throne  of  a  CathoHc  bishop,  one  of  a  thousand  similar  seats  of 
spiritual  authority,  so  intimately  united  together  that  each  be- 
came a  representative  of  all,  while  the  highest  was  but  the  bond 
and  key-stone  of  a  common  supremacy.   Alban  had  been  taught  to 


ALB AN . 


291 


think,  and,  strange  to  say,  the  idea  even  now  came  over  him  with  a 
mysterious  horror,  that  such  a  church  was  one  of  Satan's  visible 
seals,  and  the  worship  offered  in  it  profane  and  impious.  And  truly 
if  it  were  so,  the  Prince  of  this  world  had  a  powerful  and  consoli- 
dated empire,  militant,  by  his  profounder  artifice,  not  under  his 
own  banner,  but  under  that  of  Christ.  What  more  signal  tri- 
umph could  Hell  obtain  over  Him  who  once  conquered  it  by  His 
death,  than  by  converting  His  own  appointed  memorial  of  that 
death  into  a  service  of  idolatry,  so  that  at  the  very  moment  when 
His  pretended  ministers  (but  the  ministers  of  Satan,  in  fact)  are 
repeating  the  Saviour's  words,  "As  often  as  ye  do  this,  ye 
shall  do  it  for  a  memory  of  me,"  His  prostrate  people  adore  a 
creature  for  Himself? — and  they  have  done  it  well,  for  not  an. 
instant  of  time  passes  that  a  mass  is  not  offered  and  the  Hos-t  is 
not  adored.  Talk  of  an  empire  on  which  the  sun  never  sets  I — 
of  the  British  reveille,  drum  ever  beating  as  our  planet  revolves 
on  its  axis,  and  day  chases  night  round  the  globe  I — what  is  that 
to  the  unending  oblation  of  the  Catholic  Church  ? — what  mo- 
ment is  not  a  priest's  voice  uttering,  Te,  igitur,  clementisslme 
Pater !  in  the  low  tone  which  is  heard  in  another  sphere  I — 
What  moment  are  not  a  priest's  hands  spread,  dove-like,  over  the 
oblata  ! — What  moment — what  moment  is  not  counted  by  the 
bell  which  announces  the  silent  and  invisible  coming  of  their  God 
to  prostrate  adorers  in  some  quiet  sanctuary,  in  Europe,  or  in  Asia, 
or  in  America,  in  the  Atlantic  cities,  or  the  Avoods  of  Oregon,  in 
the  Alps,  or  on  the  Andes,  on  the  vast  terra  firrna  all  along  the 
meridians,  or  in  the  scattered  islands  of  the  sea  I 

It  was  into  this  vast  fellowship,  this  society  everywhere  dif- 
fused and  everywhere  the  same,  (is  not  Popery  everywhere  the 
same  ?) — whether  it  were  really  the  mystery  of  iniquity,  the 
kingdom  of  Antichrist,  the  mystic  Babylon,  the  harlot  sitting  on 
many  nations,  or  the  kingdom  of  the  Son  of  God  extending  i'rom 
the  river  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  the  rock  become  a  mountain 
and  filling  the  whole  earth,  the  true  Zion,  the  immaculate  Spouse 
of  the  Lamb ; — it  was  into  this  society,  so  mysterious,  and  whose 


292 


ALBAN. 


character,  like  that  of  its  Founder,  is  the  problem  of  ages — that 
Mary  De  Gioot,  for  her  weal  or  her  woe,  came  to  be  initiated. 

Mrs.  Dolman  reappeared,  and  said  that  Father  Smith  would 
be  ready  in  a  few  miuutesw  Then  Sister  Theresa  came  out,  and 
approached  the  carriage  window. 

"  Good  morning,  my  dear  Miss  De  Groot.  Are  you  well  ?  I 
feared  you  were  not,  liom  your  non-appearance  yesterday.  Mar- 
garet is  here  too,  I  see  I  You  adhere  to  your  purpose  ?  Well, 
Father  Smith  is  now  at  the  altar,  my  dear  young  friend,  reciting 
the  psahns  of  preparation." 

Mary  sank  back  in  the  carriage  for  a  moment. 

"  I  think  you  may  come  now,"  said  the  Sister. 

Mary  motioned  to  Alban  to  get  out  of  the  carriage.  Her  father 
followed.  She  herself,  when  she  stood  on  the  pavement,  seemed 
overcome,  and  was  as  pale  as  if  she  were  going  to  faint.  She 
leaned  on  IMargaret. 

"  Shall  I  fetch  a  glass  of  water  ?"  said  Alban. 

"  No,  no.    I  must  not  drink." 

The  thought  revived  her.  It  was  in  great  part  physical  weak- 
ness from  her  three  days'  fast,  which  had  told  on  a  youthful 
frame.  Sister  Theresa  and  Margaret  were  obliged  to  support  her 
in  ascending  the  steps.  On  the  last  step  she  looked  round  for  her 
father,  who  had  slowly  followed  them. 

"  Forgive  me,  papa." 

He  was  silent,  and  Mary  added,  "  God  is  too  good  to  me  in 
allowing  you  to  be  present." 

Mr.  De  Groot  suddenly  advanced  and  took  her  hand.  He 
was  aware  that  the  time  was  come — the  last  moment  in  which 
he  could  exercise  his  parental  right  of  preventing  by  force  the 
action  which  was  about  to  take  place.  Once  his  daughter  had 
crossed  the  threshold  of  the  church,  and  physical  coercion  was  no 
longer  a  resource.  He  held  her  hand  firmly,  and  gazed  sternly  on 
the  rest.  The  door  of  the  porch  was  held  open  at  that  moment 
by  Mrs.  Dolman  ;  that  of  the  chapel  was  already  open,  and  a 
procession  with  lights  approached  from  within. 


ALB  AN 


293 


''You  must  return  home,"  said  Mr.  De  Groot,  with  a  fierce 
calmness. 

Tlie  Sister's  mild  countenance  expressed  surprise  ;  Margaret 
exclaimed  ;  and  the  old  woman's  dark  skiimy  face,  as  the  chapel 
lights  fell  upon  it,  was  corrugated  with  indignation.  Alban 
turned  slightly  away,  when  Mr.  De  Groot  relinquished  his  daugh- 
ter's hand  as  suddenly  as  he  had  seized  it.  His  glance  was 
directed  to  the  door  of  the  chapel,  whither  all  instinctively  turned. 
Somehow,  in  another  minute  all  were  collected  within  the  porch, 
and  the  outer  door  had  swung  to  upon  them. 

On  the  threshold  of  the  chapel  was  a  group  composed  as  fol- 
lows :  On  either  side  stood  two  young  boj^s,  with  sweet,  innocent 
countenunces,  robed  in  scarlet  to  the  feet,  over  which  they  wore 
short,  fine  surplices,  and  each  bearing  a  lighted  candle.  In  the 
midst  of  these  stood  a  priest.  His  short  Roman  surpHce  was  fine 
as  lace  ;  a  magnificently-embroidered  violet  stole  was  laid  over 
his  shoulders,  like  a  yoke  of  purple  and  gold,  the  beretta  covered 
his  head,  a  book  was  in  his  hand.  His  long  black  habit  was 
confined  at  the  waist  by  a  sash.  To  Alban  all  this  was  utterly 
strange  ;  as  a  picture  beautiful  ;  but  with  difficulty  regarded  as 
the  serious  garb  of  religion.  The  scarlet  cassocks  of  the  boys 
reminded  him  of  the  Woman  in  the  Revelations.  Mr.  De  Groot's 
eye  was  fastened  with  evident  recognition  on  the  priest's  counte- 
nance. Both  he  and  Alban  involuntarily  retired  from  Mary,  who 
stood  with  Margaret,  facing  the  clergyman.  The  Sister  and  Mrs. 
Dolman  drew  back  on  the  opposite  side.  There  was  a  moment's 
breathless  silence,  which  was  broken  by  the  voice  of  the  priest. 

"  What  is  thy  name  ?" 

"  Mary,"  was  the  reply,  in  a  voice  somewhat  faltering. 
"  Mary,  what  dost  thou  seek  of  the  Church  of  God  ?" 
-Faith." 

"  What  doth  faith  give  thee  ?" 

"  Eternal  fife,"  answered  the  postulant,  in  a  firmer  voice. 
"  If  thou  wilt  have  eternal  life,"  said  the  priest,  "  keep  tne 
commandments.    '  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God.^ 


294 


ALB AN . 


But  Faith  is,"  he  added,  after  finishing  the  text,  "  that  thou  wor- 
ship one  God  in  Trinity  and  Trinity  in  Unity,  neither  confounding 
the  Persons,  nor  dividing  the  Substance.  For  there  is  one  Person 
of  the  Father,  another  of  the  Son,  another  of  the  Holy  Ghost  ;  but 
of  these  three  the  Substance  is  one,  and  one  the  Godhead.  Mary, 
dost  thou  renounce  Satan  ?" 

*'  I  renounce  him,"  said  Mary,  reading,  in  a  firm  voice. 

"  And  all  his  works  ?" 

*'  I  renounce  them." 

"  And  all  his  pomps  ?" 

"  I  renounce  them." 

She  gave  the  book  to  Margaret,  as  if  no  longer  needing  it. 
The  priest  interrogated  her  on  the  Apostles'  creed  in  a  brief  form, 
dividing  it  into  three  parts,  to  each  of  which  the  answer  was,  "  I 
believe."  Then  he  seemed  to  blow  in  her  face  thrice,  saying  in 
Latin  and  English,  "  Go  out  of  her,  unclean  spirit,  and  give  place 
to  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  Paraclete."  Beckoning  her  to  approach, 
he  breathed  in  her  face,  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  saying,  "  Mary, 
Receive  by  this  insufflation  the  good  spirit  and  the  benediction  of 
God.    Pax  tihi'' 

"  Et  cum  s.piritu  tuo,^^  answered  the  boys  with  lights.  Their 
young  voices  rung  loud  and  clear,  startlingly  so. 

Alban  had  never  before  witnessed  any  Catholic  rite,  had  never 
stood  even  at  the  threshold  of  a  Catholic  church,  or  distinguished 
a  Catholic  priest.  He  naturally  watched  every  movement,  and 
listened  to  every  word  with  closest  attention.  It  would  be  giving 
him  altogether  too  great  a  superiority  to  the  prejudices  of  education 
to  suppose  that  these  insufflations  and  the  accompanying  words 
did  not  appear  to  him  superstitious.  Mary  stood  near  the  clergy- 
man, and  Margaret  had  put  back  the  hood  of  her  mantle.  He 
signed  her  with  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"Mary,  receive  the  sign  of  the  cross  as  well  in  the  forehead  ►J* 
as  in  the  breast  :  receive  the  faith  of  the  heavenly  precepts  :  be 
such  in  manners  that  thou  mayest  now  be  the  temple  of  God  :  and 
entering  the  Church  of  God,  joyfully  acknowledge  thyself  to  have 


ALB AN. 


295 


escaped  the  snares  of  death  :  abhor  the  Arian  and  Socmian  per- 
fidy ;  worship  God,  the  Father  Almighty,  and  Jesus  Christ,  His 
only  Son,  our  Lord,  who  will  come  to  judge  the  living  and  the 
dead,  and  the  world  by  fire," 

The  surpliced  boys  said,  "  Amen." 

"  Let  us  pray,"  said  the  priest.  The  prayer  spoke  of  God's 
handmaid  Mary,  (famulam  tuam  Mariam,)  now  wandering,  un- 
certain and  doubtful  in  the  night  of  this  world,  and  besought  the 
Holy  Lord,  the  Almighty  Father,  the  Eternal  God,  to  show  her 
the  way  of  truth  and  of  the  acknowledgment  of  Himself,  that  the 
eyes  of  her  heart  being  unsealed,  she  might  recognize  Him,  one 
God  the  Father  in  the  Son,  and  the  Son  in  the  Father,  with  the 
Holy  Ghost,  and  reap  the  fruit  of  that  confession  both  here  and  in. 
the  world  to  come  ;  and  Atherton  perceived  that  Mary  was  con- 
sidered as  still  unacquainted  wdth  God.  But  the  rite  rapidly  pro- 
ceeded. 

The  priest  signed  the  candidate  with  the  sign  of  the  cross  in. 
her  forehead,  and  on  several  other  places,  saying, 

"  I  sign  thy  forehead  ►J*  that  thou  may  est  receive  the  cross  of 
the  Lord. 

"  I  sign  thine  ears  that  thou  mayest  hear  the  divine  pre- 
cepts. 

"  I  sign  thine  eyes  »J*  that  thou  mayest  see  the  Brightness  of 
God. 

"  I  sign  thy  nostrils  bf«  that  thou  mayest  perceive  the  odor  of 
the  sweetness  of  Christ. 

"  I  sign  thy  mouth      that  thou  mayest  speak  the  words  of 

life. 

"  I  sign  thy  breast      that  thou  mayest  believe  in  God. 
"  I  sign  thy  shoulders      that  thou  mayest  receive  the  yoke  of 
his  service." 

And  as  Mary,  whose  neck  and  shoulders  Margaret  had  bared, 
raised  herself  from  bending  before  the  priest  after  the  last  words, 
he  signed  her  whole  body,  but  without  touching  her,  saying, 

"  I  sign  thee  all,  in  the  name  of  the  Father  i^,  and  of  the 


296 


ALBAN. 


Son       and  of  the  Holy  Ghost       that  thou  mayest  have  eternal 
life,  and  Hve  for  ever  and  ever." 
"  Amen." 

"  Orcmtis''  aofain — and  the  priest  rapidly  recited  several  Latin 
prayers,  of  which  the  purport  was  that  this  "  Elect  one,  this  hand- 
maid of  God,  might  be  kept  by  the  power  of  the  Lord's  cross,  and 
the  efficacy  of  His  mercy,  so  that  from  the  rudiments  of  faith  to 
which  she  had  now  been  called,  she  might  proceed  day  by  day  till 
she  could  fitly  approach  the  grace  of  Baptism,  arrive  at  the  glory 
of  regeneration,  and  what  she  could  not  obtain  by  nature,  rejoice 
to  have  received  by  grace,"  always  through  Christ  our  Lord.  And 
now  followed  a  very  superstitious  part  of  this  strange  ceremony — 
the  blessing  and  exorcism  of  salt,  which  one  of  the  innocent-look- 
ing surpliced  boys  gravely  presented  in  a  silver  vessel.  The  priest 
read  a  long  Latin  prayer,  interspersed  with  ever  so  many  crossings. 
"We  translate,  that  our  readers,  before  they  unawares  adopt  it,  may 
see  what  a  singular  religion  the  Catholic  is. 

"  I  exorcise  thee,  creature  of  salt,  in  the  name  of  God  the 
Father  Ahnighty,  and  in  the  charity  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
and  in  the  virtue  of  the  Holy  fc|<»  Ghost.  I  exorcise  thee  by  the  liv- 
ing God  »J*,  by  the  holy  God  *|«,  by  the  God  who  created  thee  for 
the  safeguard  of  mankind,  and  commanded  thee  to  be  consecrated 
by  his  servants  for  the  people  coming  to  the  simplicity  of  faith, 
that  in  the  name  of  the  Holy  Trinity  thou  mayest  be  made  a  sal- 
utary sacrament  to  put  the  enemy  to  flight.  Therefore  we  ask  of 
thee,  Lord  our  God,  that  sanctifying  thou  wouldst  sanctify  and 
blessing  thou  wouldst  bless  this  creature  of  salt,  that  it  may 
become  to  all  who  receive  it  a  perfect  medicine,  abiding  in  their 
entrails,  in  the  name  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  shall  come  to 
judge  the  quick  and  the  dead,  and  the  world  by  fire." 

And  then  the  priest  put  some  of  the  salt  on  the  tongue  of  the 
young  catechumen,  adding,  "  Mary,  receive  the  salt  of  wisdom  : 
he  it  a  propitiation  to  thee  unto  eternal  life." — "  Amen.'" — "  Pax 
tibi." — "  Et  cum  spiritu  tuo."'' — More  Latin  prayers  followed,  to 
the  efiect  that  the  God  of  their  fathers,  the  Author  of  all  truth, 


AL  BAN. 


297 


Would  look  upon  His  handmaid,  Mary,  and  as  she  had  "  lasted 
that  first  food  of  salt,  not  permit  her  longer  to  thirst,  but  bring  her 
to  the  laver  of  regeneration." 

"  Elect  one,  pray.    Bend  the  knee,  and  say,  our  Father." 

And  Mary  knelt  before  the  priest  and  said  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

"  Rise.    Finish  thy  prayer  and  say,  Amen" 

''Amen"  {rising.) 

"  Sign  her,"  said  the  priest  to  Margaret,  and  to  the  young 
Elect  he  added — "  Approach," — and  Margaret  signed  Mary  on 
the  forehead,  completing  the  priest's  sentence,  "  In  the  name  of 
the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost  :" — an  action 
and  words  which  the  priest  immediately  ratified  by  repeating. 
And  then  followed  the  strangest  prayer  of  all,  or  rather,  a  series 
of  prayers  and  adjurations,  rising  like  the  fearful  note  which  shall 
prepare  for  the  last  regeneration.  It  was  awful  to  hear  in  that 
poor  porch.    The  priest  lifted  his  hand  over  her  head. 

"  God  of  Heaven,  God  of  Earth,  God  of  Angels,  God  of  Arch- 
angels, God  of  Patriarchs,  God  of  Prophets,  God  of  Apostles,  God 
of  Martyrs,  God  of  Confessors,  God  of  Virgins,  God  of  all  that  live 
well,  God,  to  whom  every  tongue  confesses,  and  every  knee  bends, 
of  heavenly,  earthly,  and  infernal  beings  :  I  invoke  Thee,  Lord, 
upon  this  Thy  handmaid  Mary,  that  Thou  wouldst  deign  to  keep 
her,  and  bring  her  to  the  grace  of  Thy  baptism.  Through  Christ 
our  Lord." 

"  Amen"  was  the  voice  of  the  young  light -bearers. 

"  Therefore,  cursed  devil,  recognize  thy  sentence,  and  give 
honor  to  the  true  and  living  God  ;  give  honor  to  Jesus  Christ,  His 
Son,  and  to  the  Holy  Ghost  ;  and  depart  from  this  handmaid  of 
God,  Mary  ;  for  God  and  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  has  deigned  to 
call  her  to  His  holy  grace  and  to  the  font  of  baptism,  and  this 
sign  of  the  holy  cross  i^,  which  we  give  her  in  the  forehead,  do 
thou,  cursed  devil,  never  dare  to  violate.  By  the  same  Christ  our 
Lord,  who  will  come  to  judge  the  living  and  the  dead,  and  the 
world  by  fire." 

'Amen,"  they  replied. 


298 


ALBAN. 


"  Pray,  Elect  one.    Bend  the  knee  and  say,  Our  Father. 
And  Mary  knelt  b<;fore  the  priest,  and  said  the  Lord's  Prayer. 
"  Rise.    Finish  thy  prayer  and  say,  A?7ien." 
"  Amen,''  {rising.) 

And  the  priest  said  to  Margaret,  "  Sign  her,"  and  to  the 
Elect,  "  Approach  ;"  and  Margaret  signed  her  forehead,  comple- 
ting the  invitation  in  the  name  of  the  Trinity,  and  the  priest  rati- 
fied it  as  before,  by  repeating  both  the  action  and  words  of  the 
godmother.  And  the  priest  once  more  raised  his  hand  over  her 
head.  It  was  a  prayer  to  the  "  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and 
Jacob,  who  appeared  to  Moses  in  Sinai,  and  brought  the  children 
of  Israel  out  of  Egypt,  deputing  to  them  the  Angel  of  his  pity  to 
guard  them  day  and  night,  that  He  would  deign  to  send  His  holy 
Angel  from  Heaven  to  guard  this  His  handmaid,  Mary,  and  bring 
her  to  the  grace  of  Baptism,  through  Christ  our  Lord," 

And  the  light-bearers  said,  "  Ame7i.'' 

"  Pray,  Elect  one.    Bend  the  knee  and  say,  Our  Father^ 

And  it  was  all  done  the  third  time.  At  the  end,  the  priest, 
with  his  hand  still  lifted  over  her  head,  said, 

"I  exorcise  thee,  unclean  spirit,  by  the  Father  and  the 
Son  and  the  Holy  Ghost  that  thou  mayest  go  out  and 
depart  from  this  handmaid  of  God,  Mary.  For  He  commands 
thee,  cursed,  damned  one,  who  opened  the  eyes  of  the  born  blind, 
and  raised  Lazarus  on  the  fourth  day  from  the  tomb. 

"  Therefore,  cursed  devil,  recognize  thy  sentence,  and  give 
honor  to  the  true  and  living  God,  give  honor  to  Jesus  Christ  His 
Son,  and  to  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  depart  from  this  handmaid  of 
God,  Mary ;  for  God  and  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  has  deigned  to 
call  her  to  His  holy  grace  and  to  the  font  of  Baptism,  and  this 
sign  of  the  holy  cross  *J«,  which  we  place  on  her  forehead,  do  thou, 
cursed  devil,  never  dare  to  violate.  By  the  same  Christ  our  Lord, 
who  will  come  to  judge  the  quick  and  the  dead,  and  the  world  by 
fire." 

And  the  boys  still  answered,  ''Amen.'" 

He  raised  his  hand  over  the  head  of  the  catechumen  once 


AL  B AN . 


299 


more — yes,  once  more — and  said,  as  she  bowed  before  him,  "  Let 
us  pray." 

I  entreat  thy  eternal  and  most  just  pity.  Holy  Lord,  Almighty 
Father,  Eternal  God,  Author  of  light  and  truth,  upon  this  thy 
handmaid,  Mary,  that  thou  wouldst  vouchsafe  to  illuminate  her 
with  the  light  of  the  intelligence  proceeding  from  thee  :  cleanse 
and  sanctify  her  :  give  her  the  true  science,  that  she  may  be  made 
worthy  to  approach  the  grace  of  thy  Baptism,  hold  a  firm  hope, 
a  right  counsel,  a  holy  doctrine,  that  she  may  be  fit  to  receive  thy 
grace.    Through  Christ  our  Lord." 

And  those  boys  in  scarlet  and  fine  linen  answered,  as  before, 
Ameny 

He  gave  the  end  of  the  violet  stole  into  her  hand,  and  said, 
"  Mary,  enter  into  the  holy  Church  of  God,  that  thou  mayest  re- 
ceive the  heavenly  benediction  from  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and 
have  part  with  Him  and  His  saints." 

And  the  boys  answered,  ''Amen.'^ 

Rapid  in  comparison  was  the  remainder  of  the  rite,  of  M'hich 
the  mere  preparation  had  been  so  long,  and,  one  may  say,  tedious. 
Many  are  the  steps  of  the  Temple,  and  its  porch  is  many-col- 
umned and  deep  ;  but  once  you  have  entered  the  gate — crossed 
the  threshold — and  the  pure  light  shines,  the  cleansing  water 
flows  in  a  perennial  stream.  Holding  the  priest's  stole,  Mary  en- 
tered the  church,  and,  taught  by  the  Sister,  (for  all  accompanied 
her),  fell  upon  her  knees  and  adored,  touching  the  chapel  floor 
with  her  oft-signed  brow.  She  rose  and  now  recited  with  the 
priest  the  Apostles'  creed,  and  Lord's  prayer.  He  imposed  or  held 
his  hand  again  over  her  head.  It  was  another  exorcism,  but  he 
signed  her  not  again  with  the  cross  in  pronouncing  it.  It  reminded 
Satan  of  the  day  of  judgment  at  hand,  the  day  of  everlasting  pun- 
ishment, the  day  which  should  come  as  a  burning  oven,  in  which 
everlasting  destruction  was  prepared  for  him  and  all  his  angels. 
It  bade  him,  therefore,  "  damned  one,  and  to  be  damned  hereaf- 
ter," give  honor,  as  before,  to  the  living  God,  the  eternal  Trinity, 
in  whose  name  and  power  he  was  commanded,  whoever  he  was, 


300 


AL  B AN. 


impure  spirit,  "  to  go  out  and  depart  from  this  handmaid  of  God, 
Mary,  whom  to-day  the  same  God  and  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  had 
deigned  to  call  by  a  gift,  to  His  holy  grace  and  benediction,  and 
to  the  font  of  Baptism,  that  she  might  become  His  temple  by  the 
water  of  regeneration  for  the  remission  of  sins  ;"  concluding  by 
the  ever-recurring  adjuration,  "  ]n  the  name  of  the  same  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  will  come  to  judge  the  hving  and  the 
dead,  and  the  world  by  fire." 

VYiih  saliva  from  bis  tongue  the  priest  touched  her  right  and 
left  ear,  saying,  "  Ephpheta, — that  is,  be  opened" — and  her  nos- 
trils, "  Unto  the  odor  of  sweetness  ;  but  thou,  devil,  fly,  for  the 
judgment  of  God  is  at  hand." 

Ouce  more  he  demands,  "  What  is  thy  name  ?" 

"  Mary,"  said  the  young  Elect,  pale  and  faint,  in  the  midst  of 
her  friends,  yet  unsupported,  though  Margaret  stood  near. 

"  Mary,  dost  thou  renounce  Satan  ?" 

"  I  renounce  him." 
And  all  his  works,  and  all  his  pomps  ?" 

"  I  renounce  them." 

The  holy  oil  of  catechumens  stood  in  a  small  vessel  on  a 
table,  and  the  priest  anointed  her  therewith  on  the  breast  and 
on  the  shoulders,  as  she  bowed  before  him,  temporarily  un- 
mantled. 

"  I  anoint  thee  with  the  oil  of  salvation,"  he  said,  "  in  Christ 
Jesus  our  Lord,  unto  eternal  life." 
"  Amen.'" 
"  Peace  to  thee." 

"  Et  cum  spiritu  tuo'^  was  the  unwearied  response. 

"  Go  out,  impure  spirit,''  added  the  priest,  drying  with  a 
napkin  the  places  which  he  had  anointed,  "  and  give  place  to 
the  living  and  true  God.  Fly,  impure  spirit,  and  give  place  to 
Jesus  Christ,  His  Son.  Depart,  impure  spirit,  and  give  place  to 
the  Holy  Ghost,  the  Paraclete." 

And  now  they  drew  around  .the  font  itself,  which  was 
opened,  and  a  silver  vessel  brought  to  receive  the  excess  of  the 


ALB AN. 


301 


hallowed  waters.  The  priest  removed  his  violet  stole,  and 
assumed  one  of  white  silk,  but  richly  embroidered,  like  the 
other.  In  laying  aside  the  one,  he  kissed  it  ;  he  kissed  the  other 
in  putting  it  on. 

"  What  is  thy  name  ?"  he  demanded  once  more  of  the  trem- 
bling handmaid  of  the  Lord. 

"  Mary." 

The  reply  was  low,  but  quite  clear. 

"  Mary,  dost  thou  believe  in  God  the  Father  Almighty, 
Creator  of  Heaven  and  Earth  ?" 
"  I  believe," 

*'  Dost  thou  believe  in  Jesus  Christ,  His  only  Son,  our  Lord, 
who  was  born  and  suffered  ?" 
"  I  believe." 

"  Dost  thou  believe  also  in  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  holy  Catholic 
Church,  the  communion  of  Saints,  the  remission  of  sins,  the  resur- 
rection of  the  flesh,  and  life  everlasting  ?" 
I  believe." 

*•  Mary,  what  seekest  thou  ?" 

"  Baptism." 

*•  Wilt  thou  be  baptized  ?"  " 
"  I  will." 

The  veil  was  removed  from  her  head,  and  the  mantle  from 
her  shoulders,  by  the  females.  Mary  bowed  before  the  font,  with 
head  and  neck  and  shoulders  bare,  her  hands  crossed  on  her 
bosom.  Margaret  held  her  arm  ;  and  the  priest,  taking  water  in 
a  silver  vessel  from  the  font,  poured  it  on  her  head  thrice,  in  the 
form  of  a  cross,  saying  once, 

Maria,  Ego  te  baptizo  in  nomine  Patris»J<,  et  Filii»J<,  et 
Spiritus*J*  Sancti." 

No  one  said  amen,  but  he  touched  his  finger  immediately  in 
the  sacred  chrism  which  stood  by  the  side  of  the  oil  of  catechu- 
mens, and  anointed  her  head  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  saying, 

"  Almighty  God,  the  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  Who 
hath  regenerated  thee  of  water  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  Who 

S6 


302 


AL  B AN . 


hath  given  thee  remission  of  all  sins,  Himself  anoint  thee  with 
the  chrism  of  salvation       in  the  same  Christ  Jesus,  our  Lord, 
unto  eternal  life." 
"Amen." 

"  Peace  be  to  thee." 

"  And  with  thy  spirit." 

He  put  on  her  head  the  white  chrismal. 

"  Receive  a  garment  white  and  spotless,  which  thou  mayest 
bear  before  the  tribunal  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  that  thou  may- 
est have  eternal  life." 

'*  A77ie?t.'' 

He  gave  her  a  lighted  candle  of  virgin  wax,  which  was 
brought  by  the  dark-robed  Sister.  It  was  a  noble-looking,  gray- 
haired  man  who  gave  it,  and  then  drew  back  into  shadow. 

"Receive  a  burning  lamp,  and  keep  thy  baptism  without 
reproach  ;  keep  the  commandments  of  God,  that  when  the  Lord 
shall  come  to  the  marriage,  thou  mayest  meet  Him  in  the  celes- 
tial mansion  unto  life  eternal." 

"  Amen.'' 

"  Mary,  go  in  peace,  and  the  Lord  be  with  thee." 

"  Ame?i:' 

The  surpliced  boys,  with  their  candles  and  scarlet  robes,  turned 
about  to  depart  from  the  chapel,  and  the  priest  prepared  to  follow 
them  :  but  ere  he  departed,  Father  Smith,  bending  down,  said  to 
her,  in  a  low  voice, — not  the  voice  of  a  priest  in  the  office,  but  his 
own — "  Pray  for  me."  Margaret  kissed  her  hand,  which  still  held 
the  burning  candle,  and  said,  in  a  sobbing  whisper,  "  Oh,  pray  for 
me." — Sister  Theresa  approached  in  tears,  and  said,  "  Pray  for  me, 
Mary,"  and  kissed  her.  "  Pray  for  me,  I  entreat  you.  Pray  for 
the  sisters  of  our  society."  One  or  two  old  women,  who  had  been 
kneeling  on  the  chapel  floor,  hobbled  up  and  whispered,  "  Pray 
for  us."  One  said — "  Oh  that  it  was  me,  if  I  might  die  the  next 
minute  I" 

But  there  was  another  sacrament  to  be  received.  The  Sister 
took  the  candle  from  her ;  the  veil  was  thrown  again  over  her 


ALBAN. 


303 


head.  In  a  minute  she  was  kneeling-  at  the  rails  of  the  altar  of 
the  Virgin  in  the  same  chapel,  where  the  candles  were  already 
lit,  a  little  table  stood  prepared  with  the  holy  chrism  ;  and  the  old 
ecclesiastic,  whose  mass  she  had  heard  every  morning  at  seven, 
was  sitting  with  a  mitre  on  his  head,  and  a  priest  for  his  assistant. 
In  two  or  three  minutes  the  bishop  had  confirmed  her,  had  smit- 
ten her  sinless  cheek  to  teach  her  to  bear  hardship  for  Christ,  and 
given  her  peace  and  a  blessing.  While  she  yet,  lost  and  over- 
powered, thanked  God  for  this  second  grace — the  gift  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  Himself,  and  prayed  for  those  who  had  asked  her  prayers, 
Sister  Theresa  put  the  candle  again  in  her  hand,  and  made  her 
go  into  the  church  to  hear  mass.  She  knelt  between  the  sister 
and  Margaret,  who  offered  their  communion  for  her.  Mary  lis- 
tened to  the  mass  of  the  Epiphany,  (for  it  was  the  octave.)  familiar 
to  her  from  having  heard  it  already  twice.  The  gospels,  of  course, 
were  the  same  as  at  that  Christmas  mass  when  she  was  convert- 
ed, although  their  relative  position  was  reversed.  She  heard 
them  now  with  the  white  veil  of  confirmation  on  her  head, 
with  the  lighted  candle  of  the  neophyte  in  her  hand.  Again,  as 
on  Christmas  morn,  she  adored  with  the  wise  men,  but  it  was  as 
one  who  had  found  the  Saviour  in  the  House  of  Bread ;  again  she 
bent  the  knee  in  honor  of  the  Word  made  Flesh,  but  it  was  as 
one  who  had  received  power  to  become  the  Child  of  God. 

''Ecce  Agnus  Dei  I    Ecce  qui  tollit  perxata  mundi  .'" 

It  came  upon  her  before  she  was  aware.  The  Author  of  sanc- 
tity reposed  in  a  bosom  made  whiter  than  snow  by  His  Blood. 
Love  Incarnate  sought  and  folded  in  Its  divine  embrace  a  creature 
purified  by  the  divine  love  animating  the  creaturely  heart,  and 
effacing  all  its  human  stains.  What  joy,  what  peace,  what  puri- 
ty on  purity,  and  grace  on  grace,  did  He  not  impart  in  that  kiss 
of  communion  I  in  the  touch  though  under  a  veil,  of  that  life- 
giving  and  immaculate  Flesh  which  has  ascended  to  the  Father  I 

"  Let  Him  kiss  me  luith  the  kisses  of  His  mouth,  for  thy 
breasts  are  better  than  wine.''' 

Her  father  and  Alban  witnessed  the  communion  from  a  pew 


304 


A  L  B  A  N. 


not  far  distant,  where  both  patiently  waited  until  the  new  re- 
ceived convert  had  finished  her  thanksgiving.  The  bishop  was 
in  the  vestry  when  the  party  passed  through,  returning  to  their 
cariiage.  He  wished  to  speak  to  the  young  convert,  who  knelt 
for  his  blessing. 

"  My  dear  demoiselle,'"  said  the  purple-vested  old  man,  min- 
gling French  words  with  English,  and  speaking  the  latter  language 
with  some  accent,  "  you  are  fasting,  you  must  be  exhausted.  Do 
not  return  home  without  some  refreshment.  Come  into  my  poor 
house  with  your  friends,  and  take  a  cup  of  coffee,  I  pray  you." 

"You  are  very  good  monseigneur,''  replied  Mr.  De  Groot, 
speaking  for  his  daughter,  "  but  our  carriage  waits,  as  well  as  the 
breakfast  at  my  house,  and  I  therefore  beg  your  lordship  to  excuse 
us." 

"  As  you  please,  sir.  I  should  be  sorry  if  this  young  lady 
suffered  any  inconvenience.  God  bless  you,  my  child.  I  thank 
Him  for  this  auspicious  day,  in  which  He  has  been  so  good  to  you, 
and  has  consoled  all  our  hearts  by  yowr  faith.    Pray  for  me." 

The  bishop  and  ecclesiastics  made  a  courteous  and  very  foreign 
reverence  to  the  strangers,  which  Mr.  De  Groot,  who  was  not  to 
be  outdone  in  politeness,  returned  in  the  most  formal  manner  of 
the  old  court.  When  they  got  into  the  street  Alban  had  some 
difficulty  in  realizing  that  he  was  in  New  York. 


ALBAN. 


305 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  Will  these  Christians  come,  think  you,  seilorita  ?" 

"The  young  man  is  not  a  Christian,  Rebecca,  and  the  young 
lady  is  one  still  less  than  he  :  for  she  believes  not  the  divinity  of 
the  Notzry,  and  has  never  been  baptized." 

"  I  did  not  understand  the  young  senor  to  say  that  precisely. 
That  she  had  renounced  the  creed  of  her  childhood  wa.s  what  he 
intimated  ;  from  which  I  inferred,  seiiorita,  that  she  is  now  more 
a  Christian  than  ever.  At  best,  how  can  you  be  sure  that  she  is 
purified  to  enter  the  sanctuary  ?" 

The  young  Jewess  made  no  reply,  though  her  brow  indicated 
that  the  question  troubled  her.  The  mistress  and  maid  stood  in 
the  porch  of  the  synagogue,  which  was  considerably  elevated 
above  the  street.  Many  male  Jews  were  loitering  on  the  steps  or 
about  the  doors,  and  the  service  within  was  already  begun. 

"  I  doubt  they  will  not  keep  their  engagement,  seiiora,  and  I 
like  not  that  you  should  wait  here  for  them." 

"  I  will  wait,"  said  her  mistress,  impatiently.  "  And  see — 
here  they  are  I" 

A  beautifully  appointed  chariot  drew  up,  indeed,  before  the 
synagogue.  A  black  coachman  and  footman,  both  bearded,  cock- 
aded,  and  arrayed  in  many-caped  blue  overcoats,  sat  together 
on  the  blue  hammercloth,  with  a  superb  robe  of  fox-skins  over 
their  legs.  A  sympathetic  smile,  dashed  with  profound  respect, 
was  on  their  coal-black  visages,  when  the  fellow  whose  office  it 
was,  held  the  chariot  door  open  for  Miss  De  Groot  and  Alban  to 
descend,  and  the  face  of  the  young  lady  was  crimson  as  she  set 
foot  upon  the  pavement.  She  looked  up  at  the  two  Jewesses  with 
curiosity,  being  at  no  loss  to  distinguish  Miriam  by  her  richer  dress, 
and  particularly  the  lace  that  decked  her  ankles,  and  the  immacu- 
late purity  of  her  white  skirts,  rendered  visible  by  her  elevated 

26* 


306 


ALBAN. 


position.  They  ascended  the  steps  of  the  synagogue,  and  Alban 
introduced  the  young  ladies.  After  a  brief  colloquy,  the  latter 
withdrew  to  the  women's  gallery,  and  the  young  man  entered, 
unquestioned,  upon  the  floor  of  the  Hebrew  sanctuary. 

The  interior  was  fitted  up  with  much  taste.  White  columns 
in  the  palm-tree  form  supported  the  gallery  ;  colunms  of  scagliola, 
with  emblematically  designed  bronzed  capitals,  encircled  the  Ark, 
which  had  doors  of  fine  woods,  and  curtains  of  silk.  The  holy 
scrolls,  exposed  to  view  during  the  greater  part  of  the  service, 
were  ^Y^apped  in  embroidered  silk,  and  the  silver  rods  on  which 
they  were  rolled,  terminated  in  glittering  ornaments  of  silver  bells 
and  pomegranates,  which  tinkled  when  the  sacred  volumes  in  use 
were  borne  in  procession  to  and  from  their  place  of  repose.  Before' 
the  ark  burned  the  "  Everlasting  Lamp."  There  were  also  nu- 
merous candlesticks,  containing  huge  candles  of  wax,  but  the 
latter  were  not  lighted  on  this  occasion.  Upon  an  elevated  square 
pulpit  in  the  centre,  trimmed  with  white  damask  silk,  the  service, 
consisting  of  the  law,  psalms,  and  prayers,  was  chanted  with  fine 
effect  by  Readers  in  white  albes.  The  Oriental  separation  of  the 
women,  the  men  wearing  their  hats,  their  peculiar  physiognomy 
and  singular  manner  of  worship,  their  long,  white  shawls,  and 
see-sawing  while  they  muttered  Hebrew  prayers,  or  joined  in  the 
harshthunder  ofthe  response,  were  very  impressive.  At  one  point 
all  present  prostrated  themselves  with  so  much  suddenness  that 
our  hero  was  startled. 

"  Such  then,"  thought  he,  "is  what  remains  of  the  worship 
of  the  sacred  tribes — the  worship  in  which  our  Saviour  joined 
when  on  earth,  and  at  which,  after  His  ascension,  the  Apostles 
still  occasionally  assisted." 

Alban  had  every  disposition  in  the  world  to  be  pleased,  and 
really  the  rite  affected  him  deeply.  The  chanting,  use  of  lights, 
vestments  of  the  Readers,  prostration,  and  other  ceremonies, 
reminded  him  of  the  Temple.  But  where  were  the  divine  pecu- 
liarities of  that  celestially  designed  worship  ?  Where  was  the 
sacrifice,  and  Divine  Presence,  and  the  lamb  for  a  burnt  offering  ? 


ALB AN . 


307 


From  the  steps  of  the  Catholic  altar,  that  morning,  he  had  heard 
a  reply,  which  still  rang  in  his  ears, — "  Behold  the  Lamb  of 
God — behold  Him  icho  takeih  aiuay  the  sins  of  the  ivorld 
Despite  himself,  and  as  if  by  force,  the  conviction  was  wrung 
from  his  mind — that  not  here,  but  there,  was  the  continuation 
of  the  Temple  worship.  It  was  an  intuition  above  and  be- 
yond all  argument.  That  everlasting  lamp  pointed  to  a  local 
sanctity,  a  divine  inhabitation,  which  once  existed.  Had  so 
blessed  a  reality  ceased  these  two  thousand  years  ?  Impossible  to 
credit  its  non-existence  if  it  ever  existed  at  all.  And  the  victims 
which  had  ceased  to  bleed,  the  incense  which  no  more  curled 
upward  from  under  the  hands  of  the  Cohen  !  And  the  voice  of 
prophecy — the  light  and  perfection  of  the  High  Priest's  breast- 
plate— the  abiding  oracles  of  God — the  power  which  preserved 
the  line  of  Aaron,  and  inspired  the  lips  even  of  Caiaphas — had  it 
all  come  to  nothing,  and  vanished  like  the  legends  of  a  fabulous 
age  ?  Not  if  it  was  divine.  Wels  the  Babel  of  Protestantism 
the  successor  of  the  Temple  w^hich  was  built  without  sound  of 
hammer  ;  and  where  d,welt  in  visible  glory  the  God  Who  maketh 
men  to  be  of  one  mind  in  a  house  ?  Was  a  system  which  left 
all  doubtful,  and  which  substituted  emotions  for  morality — a 
debasing,  inefficacious,  no-creed — was  this  the  heir  of  the  proph- 
ets, and  the  antitype  of  the  Law?  He  had  answered  that  ques- 
tion before. 

Alban  opposed  a  vigorous  resistance  to  these  impressions.  His 
pride  recoiled  from  seeming  to  follow  Mary  De  Groot,  and  still 
more  from  being  forced  by  circumstances  into  the  position  of  her 
lover.  It  was  her  father  who  had  sent  them  to  the  synagogue 
together  that  morning,  rather  against  both  their  wills,  as  matters 
now  stood,  and  sent  them  in  his  own  carriage,  which  compromised 
them  both.  If  now  he  became  a  Catholic  ?  And  Miriam  ?  His 
heart  beat  as  he  glanced  up  at  the  gallery  of  the  synagogue  ; 
and  her  figure,  as  she  stood  on  the  steps,  floated  before  him. 
Then  he  beheld  her  dancing  in  her  brother's  drawing-room, 
where  he  had  played  as  a  child.    He  saw  her  come  bending  for- 


308 


ALBAN. 


ward  under  the  cvimson  drapery  of  the  folding  doors,  and  appear 
in  the  sunset  light,  as  at  their  first  meeting.  Then  his  imagina- 
tion kindled,  and  he  passed,  in  thought,  to  the  East.  Ambition 
blended  with  passion.  Adventure,  conflict,  triumph  !  He  was  a 
conqueror,  a  prince  :  he  laid  the  reins  on  the  neck  of  pride.  This 
was  not  the  temper  in  which  he  could  embrace  the  cross. 

Meanwhile,  Miriam  and  Miss  De  Groot  were  in  the  women's 
gallery.  Mary  felt  strangely  out  of  place  in  it,  and  half-degraded. 
Miss  Seixas  talked  to  her  almost  incessantly — chiefly  about  dress, 
the  opera,  dancing,  and  her  friend  Mr.  Atherton,  topics  more  in- 
consistent with  the  sanctity  of  the  place,  if  it  had  any,  than  the 
ceremonial  pollution  which  alone  the  young  Jewess  had  seemed 
to  fear.-  Yet  Miriam  occasionally  took  part  in  the  worship,  and 
prostrated  herself  with  the  rest,  with  great  apparent  devotion. 
But  she  laughed  the  moment  after,  as  she  brushed  the  dust  of  the 
floor  from  her  silk  dress. 

Day  after  day  of  the  vacation  passed,  and  Alban  became  more 
intimately  acquainted  with  the  persons  he  had  met.  Livingston. 
Van  Brugh  took  a  great  fancy  to  him,  and  from  a  singular  cause. 
In  a  rencounter  of  young  men  one  morning,  at  a  chess-room.  Van. 
Brugh  avowed  his  unrestrained  libertinism,  expressing  absolute 
disbelief  in  the  existence  of  virtue  in  either  sex.  Alban  broke 
out  in  such  a  hearty  and  contemptuous  denunciation  of  these 
principles,  that  most  of  the  others  expected  Livingston  to  knock 
him  down.  Instead  of  showing  resentment,  however,  he  imme- 
diately began  to  cultivate  our  hero's  society — a  flattery  against 
which  Alban  was  not  proof.  Van  Brugh  laughingly  said  that  he 
wanted  to  find  out  to  what  sort  of  vice  Atherton  was  accessible, 
since  that  which  contented  young  men  generally,  excited  his  dis- 
gust. So,  with  praise  of  his  delicacy,  and  appeals  to  every  latent 
passion  of  youth,  he  worked  to  inspire,  if  possible,  a  craving  for 
forbidden  pleasure.  Van  Brugh  had  too  much  tact  ever  to  speak 
of  Miss  De  Groot,  except  in  terms  of  highest  respect.  He 
believed,  he  used  to  say,  that  if  there  was  a  virtuous  girl  living, 
it  was  she.    But  to  Miss  Clinton  he  w^as  not  so  indulgent. 


ALB AN . 


309 


On  the  other  hand,  Alban  learned  from  Mr.  Clinton  that 
there  was  a  discipline  in  existence  designed  to  fortify  man  against 
himself,  and  a  treasure  of  grace  accessible  to  all  ;  by  the  aid  of 
which,  even  youth,  if  it  would,  might  perfectly  triumph.  Thus 
his  bane  and  antidote  were  both  before  him.  He  used  to  see 
Mr.  Chnton  every  day,  for  the  latter  never  omitted  to  give  him 
an  excuse  for  calling  again.  And  when  Alban  went  away,  Mr. 
Clinton  would  say,  "Pray,  go  up  to  the  drawing-room  and  see  the 
ladies  ;  and  if  you  have  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  my  daugh- 
ter on  these  topics — since  they  interest  you — I  wish  you  would." 

Thus  Alban,  who  was  ashamed  to  call  in  State-street  as  often, 
as  he  wished,  and  who  purposely  stayed  away  from  Mr.  De 
Groot's,  saw  Miss  Clinton  daily,  and  sometimes  alone.  She  was 
extremely  agreeable — more  so  than  Miss  Ellsworth  ;  for  she  had 
seen  so  many  things  abroad  that  were  interesting  to  Alban.  Her 
temper  was  imperturbable,  in  which  she  had  greatly  the  advan- 
tage of  Mary  De  Groot  ;  and  instead  of  treating  our  hero,  like 
Miss  Seixas,  as  a  youth  whom  she  was  bound  to  amuse,  she 
appeared  to  look  up  to  him,  listening  with  admiring  respect  to 
every  thing  he  said,  on  the  religious  and  moral  topics  on  which 
he  was  stronger  than  on  any  other  ;  and,  in  fine,  entered  into 
Alban  completely,  just  as  he  was — conforming  herself  exactly  to 
him,  not  attempting  to  mould  him  to  herself  Mary  De  Groot 
had  an  inward  position  of  her  own,  from  which  there  was  no 
moving  her.  Her  mind  worked,  and  her  heart  glowed  independ- 
ently. Somehow,  Alban  did  not  like  that  altogether,  even  when 
the  heart  glowed  towards  him.  Miriam  seemed  inapproachable 
in  her  race  and  her  womanly  loveliness — in  her  religion  and  her 
betrothal.  But  Henrietta  floated  right  along  with  him,  wher- 
ever he  would.  She  merely  undertook  to  improve  his  manners  in. 
some  small  particulars — reformed  his  French  pronunciation,  im- 
parted to  him  several  secrets  of  etiquette,  and  taught  him  how  to 
tie  his  cravat. 

"We  do  not  care  to  dwell  on  these  things,  but  the  interviews 
we  speak  of,  coming  upon  the  conversations  of  Van  Brugh,  and 


310 


AL  B AN . 


perhaps  recalling  associations  \vith  Miss  Clinton's  name,  supported 
by  mach  that  he  really  could  not  help  observing  in  her  manners, 
threw  a  strange  light  into  unsuspected  hollows  in  Alban's  heart. 
Strange  images  would  rise  up,  and  flit  before  his  mental  eye,  like 
bats  in  the  dusk.  Not  that  they  looked  like  bats  to  him.  They 
had,  on  the  contrary,  a  beauty  from  which  he  could  with  difficulty 
avert  his  gaze  ;  they  had  soft,  seductive  faces  ;  their  flowing  hair 
was  like  the  hair  of  women  ;  their  forms  were  female  to  the  waist ; 
and  the  rest  was  lost  in  a  drapery  of  fiery  mist. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Alban  did  not  visit  the  De  Groots 
at  all.  He  went  there  in  the  evening,  when  he  was  sure  to  see 
the  parents  as  well  as  the  daughter.  Then  they  had  a  pleasant 
social  lime.  You  never  would  have  supposed  that  of  those  four 
persons,  one  was  a  Pantheist,  one  a  bigoted  Presbyterian,  one  a 
devout  convert  to  the  Catholic  CJiurch,  and  one  something  between 
a  Deist  and  a  Jew.  Religion  was  never  mentioned,  and  if  love 
was  present,  it  was  in  a  modest,  quiet  guise.  The  party  generally 
played  whist,  after  which  Mary  De  Groot  went  to  the  piano.  Her 
style  was  exactly  suited  to  charm  a  domestic  circle  like  that,  pa- 
tient yet  flowing,  and  dehghtfuUy  accurate,  without  too  much 
vigor  ;  and  her  singing  a  full-breasted,  smooth  warble,  negligent 
of  petty  ornament,  and  delighting  in  pure  simple  eflects.  Alban 
appeared  very  manly,  and  considerably  recovered  the  good  graces 
of  Mrs.  De  Groot,  to  whom  he  was  more  attentive  than  to  Mary. 
Twice  he  rode  out  with  the  latter  and  her  father,  and  Mr.  De 
Groot  kindly  placed  a  horse  at  his  disposal,  to  use  whenever  he 
liked.  Thus  Saturday,  Sunday,  Monday,  Tuesday,  and  Wednesday 
passed.  Returning  on  Thursday  afternoon,  from  his  first  solitary 
ride,  and  skirting  the  fine  (but  then  leafless)  woods,  where  the  old 
Lorillard  mansion  (now  the  Convent  of  the  Sacre  CcEur)  com- 
mands a  view  of  both  rivers,  at  the  base  of  the  hill  he  overtook 
a  carriage  containing  two  ladies.  They  were  his  Jewish  friends. 
He  had  passed  them  going  out,  but  at  the  New  York  trotting  pace 
of  a  mile  in  two  minutes  and  forty  seconds,  which  certainly  gave 
no  time  for  recognition. 


ALBAN.  311 

"  You  ^vent  by  us  like  lightning,  I  was  very  much  afraid  for 
you,''  said  Mrs.  Seixas,  in  a  foreign  accent. 

"  \Yhen  you  go  to  the  East,  you  will  ride  an  Arab,"  said  Mi- 
riam, eyeing  with  admiration  the  black,  wild-eyed  horse,  with 
fiercely  curving  neck,  which  Alban  rode. 

"  And  wield  a  Damascus  scimitar  instead  of  this," — waving 
his  riding-whip. 

"  Exactly." 

"  ^Ye  always  rode  donkeys  at  Smyrna,"  observed  Mrs.  Seixas. 
*'  They  are  safer,  and  none  but  Turks  and  Franks  are  allowed  to 
ride  horses  in  the  East." 

"Do  you  go  to  Mrs.  Clinton's  party  to-night  ?"  asked  Miriam. 

"  Of  course.    Is  not  the  whole  world  to  be  there  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  so,"  replied  Miriam,  with  a  smile.  "  What  is 
called  the  whole  world  in  this  corner  of  it." 

"  We  shall  be  great  people,"  said  Mrs.  Seixas — "  I  mean  at 
Mrs.  Clinton's  party  : — for  we  are  to  take  with  us  a  real  Count, 
Mr.  Atherton,  who  has  brought  letters  of  credit  and  introduction 
to  my  husband,  from  Baron  Rothschild,  at  Vienna. 

"  I  expect  the  Count  to  fall  in  love  with  your  beautiful  Miss 
De  Groot,"  said  Miriam  :  "for  like  her  he  is  a  Catholic." 


312 


AL  B  AN. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

There  was  something  pleasant,  and  what  is  called  aristocratic  in. 
the  way  society  was  managed  in  New  York  sixteen  years  ago. 
The  wealthy  families  were  fewer  ;  the  rooms  were  larger  ;  the 
parties  not  so  large,  but  more  select.  It  was  possible  to  dance  at 
private  balls,  and  even  usual,  and  a  young  lady  could  attend  one 
without  having  her  clothes  torn  off  her  back,  which  often  happens 
now-a-days.  Mrs.  CUnton,  for  instance,  who  was  a  leader  then, 
lived  in  a  wide  basement  house,  (as  it  is  called,)  the  principal 
drawing-room  extending  across  the  front,  with  three  windows  to 
the  floor.  The  back  room  was  equally  fine,  though  differently  pro- 
portioned, and  there  was  an  extensive  back  building  with  a  dining- 
room  in  the  basement,  and  a  billiard-room  (Mr.  Clinton  was  fond 
of  playing  at  home)  on  the  first  floor — a  spacious,  lofty  apartment, 
which,  when  Mrs.  Clinton  gave  a  party,  the  floor  being  prettily 
chalked,  was  converted  into  a  ball-room.  What  made  this  pe- 
culiarly convenient  and  agreeable  was,  that  the  windows  of  the 
billiard-room  looking  south  opened  into  the  conservatory,  which 
ran  the  whole  length  of  the  back  building,  and  was  available  on 
a  party  night.  The  music  was  always  placed  here.  Thus  Mrs. 
Clinton,  who  liked  something  of  a  crush  at  her  parties,  could 
afford  to  issue  three  hundred  cards  of  invitation. 

By  nine  o'clock  that  part  of  Broadway  was  a  regular  lock  of 
carriages.  The  guests  as  they  were  set  down  ascended  to  the 
bedrooms — gay  with  French  upholstery  and  bright  as  day  with 
tapers — to  lay  aside  their  outer  wrappings.  In  the  room  al- 
lotted to  the  darker  sex,  Alban  found  Mr.  De  Groot,  who  imme- 
diately said — "  You  have  no  young  lady  with  you,  of  course  ? 
Well,  you  must  take  down  Mary.  Let  us  go  into  the  hall  as  soon 
as  you  are  ready,  and  wait  for  them." 

While  they  waited,  Alban  being  extremely  nervous,  as  it  was 


ALB  AN 


313 


his  first  party,  Miss  Clinton,  so  beautifully  dressed  that  he  did  not 
know  her,  came  out  of  the  ladies'  toilet-room,  and  after  a  glance 
at  the  group  of  gentlemen,  singled  him  out  by  name,  saying, 
"  Mary  wants  you,"  and  bade  him  follow  her.  He  did  so.  and  she 
re-enlered  the  apartment  whence  she  came,  parting  the  fair  throng 
within.  Here  a  bevy  of  damsels  were  admiring  their  toilets 
and  figures  in  a  psyche;  there  one  was  adjusting  her  ringlets 
before  the  toilet-glass  ;  in  one  corner,  a  prudent  girl  was  exchan- 
ging the  thicker  chaussure  with  which  it  was  deemed  best  to  be 
protected  in  stepping  from  the  carriage  to  the  door,  for  the  satin 
slippers  appropriate  for  dancing  ;  and  there  was  a  sHght  movement 
of  apprehension  and  displeasure  at  the  entrance  of  a  young  man  ; 
but  it  was  to  tie  Miss  De  G root's  slipper — an  office  Avhich  the 
young  lady,  already  gloved,  with  her  bouquet,  tablets,  and  fan  in 
hand,  seemed  expecting  from  some  one,  but  not  from  him,  to 
judge  by  her  ready  blush.  In  a  moment,  however,  at  Miss  Clin- 
ton's bidding  he  had  knelt  at  her  feet,  thanking  all  his  stars  for 
the  happy  chance  which  made  that  narrow  ribbon  come  untied. 
He  was  not  used  to  tying  ladies'  slippers,  his  modesty  was  in  his 
way,  and  the  beauty  all  around  confused  him  ;  he  blundered, 
and  the  young  ladies  tittered  ;  Mary,  with  angry  promptitude,  took 
her  foot  upon  her  knee,  turning  away  from  him.  But  Alban 
looked  so  mortified  that  Math  a  forced  laugh  she  bade  him  try 
again,  directing  him  how  to  cross  the  ties,  and  inserting  her  fin- 
ger (lor  the  glove  was  already  off)  in  the  knot  as  he  secured  it. 
When  done,  she  dropped  her  foot  and  dress  quickly,  and  took  his 
arm. 

It  was  a  trivial  incident,  but  one  of  those  which  sometimes 
are  very  important  in  the  inner  world,  where  our  story  mainly 
flows.  It  must  be  remembered  that  Alban's  feeling  towards  our 
heroine,  up  to  this  date,  was  principally  characterized  by  esteem, 
which  had  gradually  increased  until  it  amounted  to  absolute  ven- 
eration. The  idea  that  her  delicacy  was  in  any  way  compro- 
mised in  his  regard,  and  that  involuntarily,  touched  him  deeply 
There  was  nothing,  however  dear  to  his  passions,  which  he  would 

27 


314 


ALB AN. 


not  sacrifice,  rather  than  it  should  be  so,  was  his  generous 
thoug-ht. 

Mary  hung  on  her  friend's  arm,  while  a  brilliant  mass  of  both 
sexes  flowed  and  retired  through  the  folding  doors,  like  the  moon- 
lit tide  through  a  water-gate.  Her  mien  was  embarrassed — not 
exactly  because  it  was  her  first  ball,  for  we  have  seen  that  she 
had,  when  she  chose,  a  formed  society  manner,  native  as  her 
graceful  carriage,  a  matter  of  birth  and  early  habit  ;  but  she  was 
an  object  of  universal  and  inquisitive  attention.  People  stared 
and  people  whispered.  Some  faces  expressed  pity  ;  some,-horror  ; 
some,  contemptuous  curiosity.  It  was  a  protection,  even  to  the 
daughter  and  heiress  of  Mr.  De  Groot,  to  appear  with  such  a  beau 
as  Atherton,  under  these  circumstances  ;  and  it  was  an  additional 
relief  that  attention  was  soon  diverted  to  her  dress,  although  she 
was  not  arrayed  in  that  pure  Avhite  muslin,  so  effective  and  dis- 
tinguishing, which  your  heroines  always  wear  at  the  balls  which 
are  given  in  novels. 

Father  Smith  had  said,  when  the  young  convert  had  consulted 
him  in  reference  to  this  party — "  Go  with  the  intention  of  pleas- 
ing them"  (her  parents)  "  and  God  ;  but  by  all  means,  my  dear 
child,  be  modestly  dressed.  A  young  lady  who  goes  to  a  ball, 
as  I  am  told  they  do  now,  more  undressed  than  dressed,  is  an 
arrow  of  Satan,  for  the  wounding  of  souls." 

Mary  was  a  determined  character.  She  did  not  ask,  when 
her  dress  came  home,  whether,  after  all,  there  could  be  any  harm 
in  being  decollettee  so  slightly,  at  her  age  especially.  She  might 
be  a  dowdy,  but  she  would  not  be  an  arrow  in  Satan's  quiver. 
She  had  plenty  of  the  stuff,  fortunately,  and  with  her  own  ready 
fingers — sitting  up  half  one  night  for  the  purpose — somehow  or 
other,  she  made  what  she  was  sure  even  Father  Smith  would 
allow  to  be  a  decent  corsage.  In  those  days  young  ladies  did  not 
wear  the  vapory  tulles,  and  other  gossamer  robes,  which  are  now 
the  rage  for  dancing  parties.  A  pink  lutestring,  changeable  with 
white,  which,  in  the  evening,  had  a  silvery  sheen,  extremely 
youthful  and  brilliant  in  effect,  was  the  ball-dress  of  the  wealthy 


AL  BAN . 


315 


patroon's  daughter.  The  most  modest  of  her  school  frocks  had 
served  Mary  for  a  pattern  ;  but  to  give  an  elegant,  and  even 
'piquant  character  to  it,  she  had  omitted  the  sleeves  altogether, 
substituting  a  single  ruffle  of  Brussels  lace.  It  had  the  most 
ingenuous  air  possible  ;  and  many  a  damsel,  with  a  robe  half  off 
her  shoulders,  envied  that  innocent  toilette.  So  much  to  convince 
our  fair  countrywomen  that  their  costume  is  still  a  subject  in 
which  we  are  interested — as,  in  truth,  it  is  one  of  great  import- 
ance— and  luckily,  where  we  are  now,  every  thing  comes  in 
play. 

So  does  dancing,  for  instance. 

Some  Catholic  ladies,  the  gayest  people  in  town,  had  sought 
an  introduction  to  Mary  ;  she  was  separated  from  Alban  ;  her 
spirit  rose  ;  her  beauty  told  upon  the  male  portion  of  the  com- 
pany ;  her  modest  garb  inspired,  respect,  for  men  are  quick  in 
observing  those  things  ;  and  she  herself  determined  to  carry  off 
her  position  bravely.  By  the  time  the  quadrille  was  formed,  she 
had  more  engagements  on  her  tablets  than  the  evening  would 
have  sufficed  to  fulfil.  Alban's  name  was  first.  Mary  laughed 
as  they  took  their  places. 

"  Dancing  was  a  religious  exercise  among  the  Hebrews  ;  you, 
I  take  for  granted,  mean  to  practise  it  with  devotion." 

"  Hang  the  Hebrews,"  thought  he — "  Miss  Seixas  is  opposite 
us,  by  the  by." 

"  And  who  is  her  partner  ?    How  very  distinguished  he  is  I" 

"  By  his  decoration  and  yellow  mustaches,  the  German 
Count,  of  whom  they  spoke  to  me." 

"  How  incongruous  for  a  Christian  knight — all  starred  and 
crossed,  and  red-ribboned — to  be  dancing  with  a  Jewess  1  She 
and  I  ought  to  change  partners,  by  rights." 

It  soon  appeared,  moreover,  that  the  Count  danced  better  than 
any  body  ;  it  made  him  more  distinguished,  even  for  a  count.  It 
was  beautiful  to  see  him — now  Avith  his  partner,  now  A\itli 
his  vis-a-vis.  Miriam's  grand  and  plastic  style  has  been 
described  ;  and  a  quadrille  in  those  days  admitted,  though  it 


316 


ALB AN. 


did  not  require,  the  display  of  it.  Mary  De  Groot — a  girl 
all  over — danced  as  she  sang,  with  faultless  accuracy,  which  was 
made  beautiful  by  her  gay  manner,  just  checked  by  modesty, 
bearing  her  head  with  a  rose-like  grace,  and  her  arras,  like 
wreathed  lilies,  over  or  beside  her  silver  drapery.  The  Count, 
attending  to  all  her  movements  with  foreign  gravity,  appreciated 
her  finely.  S-he  praised,  to  her  partner,  his  thorough-bred 
respect,  so  natural  and  seemingly  spontaneous — so  unlike  the  un- 
tutored freedom  which  passed  for  ease  with  the  native  beaux. 
They  exchanged  courteous  French  phrases  as  they  touched  their 
gloved  fingers.  Alban,  on  his  part,  flirted  as  much  as  he  could 
with  Miss  Seixas,  who  gave  him  every  encouragement. 

"  He  is  just  the  proper  person  for  you,"  said  he  to  Mary,  lead- 
ing her  into  the  conservatory  to  rest.  "  You  know  he  is  of  your 
religion." 

"  Which  is  indispensable,"  she  replied. 
•*  Well,  1  think  it  ought  to  be  in  every  case." 
*' You  of  course  will  make  up  to  Miss  Seixas." 
"  She  is  indeed  charming,"  replied  Alban. 
"  Oh,  what  a  pretty  waltz  I" 

The  Count  waltzed  with  the  daughter  of  the  house,  the  fair 
Henrietta,  and  Alban,  who  had  never  seen  waltzing  before,  looked 
on,  shocked  but  fascinated.  Henrietta's  dress  was  a  novelty — 
white  tulle,  countless  folds  confined  apparently  by  a  silver  gir- 
dle, over  a  rich  white  silk,  and  looped  up  with  flowers.  It  flew 
behind  her  like  a  white  cloud.  Then  the  Count  took  out  Miss 
Seixas.  This  was  less  objectionable  from  the  magic  of  art.  Miri- 
am's slippers  had  no  tie,  nor  even  a  heel — the  fashion  of  Spain  ; 
it  was  wonderful  how  she  kept  them  on  by  the  mere  muscular 
action,  her  feet  twinkling  like  moonbeams  on  M^aves,  Her  rich 
skirts  did  not  fly  like  Henrietta's  gossamer  attire.  Waltzer  after 
waltzer  joined  the  circling  pairs,  like  birds  rising  from  a  copse. 
Alban  looked  round  for  Miss  De  Groot,  but  she  was  gone.  He  ob- 
served with  a  pang  that  Miriam  accepted  every  invitation,  and 
after  watching  her  for  some  time  with  strangely  blended  feelings, 


ALBAN. 


317 


upon  Van  Brugh's  taking  her  out,  he  turned  away  and  went  in 
search  of  Mary.  She  was  in  a  corner  of  one  of  the  rooms,  with 
the  Count  ;  Henrietta  was  retiring  from  them  and  looking 
back. 

"  I  do  not  wahz,  sir." 

"  You  waltz  not,  mademoiselle  ?  Alors,  il  faut  commencer . 
But  Miss  Clinton  assures  me  that  you  waltz  extremely  well." 

*'  I  have  not  waltzed  since  I  left  school,  monsieur." 

"  C'est  a  dire — a  week  ago,  jmadenioiselle,  These  are  quite 
ideas  de  pensioii,  I  assure  you." 

He  plead  with  so  much  grace  and  good  humor  that  it  seemed 
ridiculous  to  refuse  him.  Miss  De  Groot  laughed.  He  even  inti- 
mated that  nothing  could  show  off  that  charming  classic  style  of 
costume  hut  the  attitude  and  movement  of  the  waltz.  He  man- 
aged her  as  a  gentle  knight  does  a  spirited  but  timid  filly. 

"  I  know  some  of  the  devoutest  young  ladies  in  Vienna  who 
scruple  not  to  waltz.  There  is  Madame  Washington  Lynch 
waltzes,  and  she  is  a  very  good  Catholic.  I  have  waltzed  with 
her  myself,  to-night,  and  she  spoke  of  you  in  raptures.  It  is  not 
a  sin,  I  assure  you,  mademoiselle.  You  err  to  be  so  strict.  At 
least  suffer  me  to  lead  you  back  to  the  salle  where  they  are  dan- 
cing, and  which  your  absence  deprives  of  so  great  an  ornament." 

She  took  his  arm  and  moved  forward  slowly,  as  if  ashamed  to 
persist  in  her  refusal.  Alban  was  so  near  as  she  passed  that  he 
could  see  the  lace  round  her  neck  rise  and  fall.  The  hand  which 
was  free  stole  up  to  a  spot  where,  doubtless,  some  memento  was 
hidden.  People  made  way  for  the  Count ;  Alban  followed  ;  they 
got  within  the  circle  in  the  dancing-room  ;  the  waltzers  swam 
round.  Miss  De  Groot  stood  by  the  Count,  with  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  and  in  front  of  Alban,  who,  indeed,  could  not  extricate  him- 
self from  the  position.  In  such  a  crowd,  moreover,  he  did  not  feel 
himsL4f  a  listener.    Mary's  eyes  were  steadily  bent  on  the  floor. 

"  I  prevent  your  dancing,  M.  le  Comte." 

"  Ah,  one  turn  with  you,  mademoiselle,  and  I  vow  to  you  that 
I  will  waltz  no  more  this  evening." 

27* 


318 


ALBAN. 


*'  I  certainly  shall  not  waltz,  monsieur,  and  if  yon  please,  I 
will  not  trust  myself  to  look  at  the  waltzing.  I  know,  sir,  that 
neither  is  a  sin,  but  I  have  been  advised  that  it  is  difficult  to  do 
either  without  sinning."  She  turned  and  perceived  Alban,  whose 
arm  she  almost  instinctively  took,  relinquishing  the  Count's. 

"  Ah,  I  see  that  you  are  formed  to  be  a  saint,  mademoiselle," 
said  the  latter.  "  I  will  not  urge  you  farther  against  your  holy 
resolutions.  More  late  in  the  evening  I  hope  to  have  the  honor 
of  your  hand  in  the  quadrille.  Priez  j^our  moi,''  he  added,  bow- 
ing and  smiling.  But  in  a  minute  he  was  again  among  the 
waltzers. 

It  was  with  Miriam.  Alban  could  not  help  trying  to  per- 
suade Miss  De  Groot  to  look  at  this  pair  :  the  action  of  Miriam's 
feet  was  so  beautiful.  The  room  was  now  so  crowded,  especially 
about  the  doors,  that  it  was  nearly  impossible  to  stir  from  the  spot 
where  they  were  ;  it  was  somewhat  difficult  to  keep  from  crowd- 
ing in  upon  the  dancers,  and  sometimes  Mary,  who  persisted  in 
not  looking  up,  was  pushed  against  her  companion,  by  some 
sweeping  couple.  Alban  was  offended  at  this  strictness,  particu- 
larly that  she  would  not  look  at  the  graceful  Miriam.  Not  that 
he  wanted  Mary  to  waltz — far  from  it :  he  hardly  knew  what  he 
wanted.  Henrietta  was  now  waltzing  with  Van  Brugh,  and  her 
drapery  brushed  them  as  she  went  by. 

"  I  must  get  into  the  other  room,  Mr.  Alban  :  can't  you  man- 
age it  ?" 

They  ran  across  the  waltzers.  Alban  penetrated  resolutely 
the  opposite  mass  towards  the  front  drawing-room.  He  was 
obHged  to  put  his  arm  fairly  round  Mary,  which  caused  another 
of  her  perpetual  blushes.  At  length  they  got  through  the  folding 
doors,  and  found  fresher  air  and  iced  punches  circulating,  while 
Mrs.  Seixas  was  the  object  of  attraction.  She  sat  indolently  on  a 
divan — dark,  but  clear  as  amber,  superbly  embonpoint,  and 
blazing  with  jewels  like  an  Orient  queen,  or  one  of  the  diamond 
images  of  King  Zeyn.  Altogether  these  Jewesses  outshone  all  the 
other  women  present.    Yet  some  how  a  feeling  had  been  awaken- 


ALBAN . 


319 


ed  in  Alban's  heart,  an  idea  (though  repelled)  had  been  presented 
to  his  mind,  which  made  all  the  splendors  of  the  world  and  se- 
ductions of  sense  seem  dim  and  weak.  In  the  midst  of  this  scene 
so  opposed  to  the  cross  in  every  shape,  he  had  experienced  one  of 
those  moments  when  Truth  sends  a  piercing  ray  into  the  soul,  and 
discovers  to  it  the  vanity  of  all  earthly  things,  Was  he  the  youth 
who  that  very  day  had  dreamed  of  a  flight  to  Syria  with  Miriam 
Seixas,  and  a  passionate  retirement  with  her  in  the  desert  or  the 
mountains  of  that  clime  of  the  sun,  preparatory  to  a  fierce  career 
of  battle  and  empire. 

At  supper  these  sublime  fancies  received  another  shock. 
While  our  Mahomet  M^as  oflering  his  Ayesha  some  oysters  (which 
she  of  course  refused)  a  careless  youth  ran  against  him,  and  made 
him  spill  some  of  the  liquid  on  her  dress.  The  individual  who 
had  caused  this  misfortune  turned  to  apologize,  and,  in  so  doing,  let 
nearly  a  plateful  of  the  same  mixture  run  over  Mary  De  Groot's 
pink  and  silver  skirt. 

"  Oh,  my  pretty  dress,"  exclaimed  she,  in  consternation,  hastily 
wiping  it  with  her  handkerchief — "  How  provoking  I  I  declare, 
Mr.  Lynch,  you  deserve  not  to  be  invited  to  another  dancing  party 
this  winter." — But  she  caught  Alban's  eye,  and  laughed, — "  I 
will  make  him  pay  me  for  it,  and  put  the  money  in  the  poor- 
box." 

Miriam  said  not  a  word  except  to  assure  Mr.  Atherton  that  it 
was  of  no  earthly  consequence,  but  she  answered  young  Lynch's 
frightened  apology  with  one  look  of  her  expressive  Oriental  face — 
a  glance  of  her  long  Jewish  eye — fit  to  have  conveyed  the  tragic 
wrath  of  a  Norma. 

Mary  De  Groot  would  retire  after  supper  with  her  parents,  in 
spite  of  all  remonstrances,  although  Alban  offered  to  take  her 
home,  and  her  father  rather  encouraged  the  idea.  In  vain  Hen- 
rietta called  her  a  spoil-sport.  The  young  lady  v/as  resolute, 
although  very  far  from  the  appearance  of  moroscness.  The 
brightness  of  her  cheek,  the  sparkle  of  her  eye,  and  beauty  of  her 
smile,  rather  indicated  that  the  emotional  nature  was  in  a  state  of 


320 


ALB AN . 


effervescence.  If  the  various  incidents  of  the  evening  had  affect- 
ed her  slightly  one  by  one,  the  repetition  had  at  length  awakened 
all  her  sensibility.  But  the  voice  of  the  spirit  was  clearly  audible 
amid  all  the  tumult  of  the  world  and  the  flesh.  She  was  not 
forced  to  obey  it,  but  she  did  without  hesitation,  humiliated  by  the 
temptation — the  love  of  pleasure  and  excitement  which  she  ex- 
perienced— but  innocent  of  even  exposing  herself  to  it  longer  than 
she  could  avoid.  It  was  a  great  merit  in  one  so  young  and  so  at- 
tractive, who  could  not  but  feel  herself  formed  to  be  the  ornament 
of  society.  She  would  have  persuaded  Alban  to  come  away  too, 
but  he  said  it  would  not  do  for  him — a  young  man  and  all  that. 

Returning  to  the  ball,  after  handing  Mary  into  her  father's 
carriage,  he  was  caught  in  passing  the  supper-room  by  Van  Brugh, 
and  compelled  to  come  in  and  drink  some  more  champagne. 
Many  other  young  men  were  lingering  to  eat  partridges  and  toss 
off  champagne  after  their  manner.  Van  Brugh  assured  him  that 
this  wine  was  like  so  much  water,  which  our  hero,  being  unused 
to  it,  partly  believed.  It  was  a  gay  party  which  sprang  upstairs, 
and  encountered  the  Seixases  also  going  away.  Miss  Clinton  was 
teasing  Miriam  to  stay. 

"  This  must  be  put  a  stop  to,  Atherton,"  cried  Livingston. 

Miss  Seixas  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  Van  Brugh's  representations, 
and  listened  to  Miss  Clinton's  entreaties  with  an  unmoved  smile, 
but  when  Alban  chimed  in,  begging  to  dance  with  her,  which  he 
had  not  been  able  to  do  all  the  evening,  and  offering  to  attend  her 
home,  after  a  yielding  glance  at  her  brother,  who  offered  no  oppo- 
sition to  an  arrangement  then  sufficiently  common,  she  suffered 
herself  to  be  led  triumphantly  back  to  the  dancing- room.  They 
w^ere  waltzing  ;  Alban  had  never  waltzed  in  his  life,  but  wine 
gave  him  courage  for  any  thing,  and  having  learned  to  dance  at 
an  eavlv  age,  before  he  was  sent  to  that  pious  place,  Babylon,  he 
caught  the  step  from  Miss  Seixas  directly.  However,  one  does 
not  learn  any  thing  perfectly  at  once.  Mary  De  Groot  had  ex- 
pressed a  doubt  of  the  possibility  of  waltzing  without  sin,  that  is, 
as  it  seemed  to  him,  without  treading  on  his  partner's  toes  :  for 


ALB AN . 


321 


the  agreeable  sensations  which  he  experienced  in  being  taught  by 
Miss  Seixas,  surely  there  was  no  sin  in  those.  She  bore  his 
bhmders  with  an  ahiiost  Christian  patience,  and  only  laughed 
very  much  when  once  obliged  to  stop  to  recover  her  slipper. 

Henrietta  next  offered  herself  to  complete  his  education,  and 
the  difficulty  of  waltzing  without  sin  was  now  very  great,  unless 
Albau  had  closed  his  eyes.  Besides  her  extreme  of  fashionable 
undress,  which  had  shocked  our  hero  at  the  commencement  of  the 
evening,  and  was  perilous  indeed  for  her  partner,  Henrietta  had 
adopted  since  supper  a  novel  and  spirited  style  of  managing  her 
drapery,  instead  of  letting  it  stream  cloud-like  behind  her,  by 
taking  it  up  on  one  side  in  a  mass,  and  throwing  the  full  skirts, 
fine  as  cobweb  and  white  as  spray,  over  her  arm.  AVhat  with 
the  glancing  arm  buried  in  those  innumerable  folds  of  semi-trans- 
parent tissue,  and  the  silver  gleam  of  the  under  dress,  it  was 
irresistibly  charming,  and  our  poor  Alban's  bosom  was  soon  all  in 
a  light  blaze  of  concupiscence. 

As  the  ships  which  approached  the  mountain  of  loadstone  in 
the  Arabian  Tales  had  all  the  iron  drawn  out  of  them  by  the 
mighty  magnet,  and  went  to  pieces,  so  it  is  with  the  souls  which 
near  this  fatal  coast.  It  is  strewn  with  wrecks.  Moreover,  from 
the  combined  influence  of  the  wine  and  the  waltz,  our  hero's 
head  began  to  swim,  and  his  fine  judgment  to  become  not  a  little 
obscured.  To  vary  our  comparisons,  he  had  arrived,  unawares, 
in  that  region  of  inward  illumination,  where  the  moral  sense  is 
eclipsed,  and  man  walks  in  the  twilight,  or  rather  the  penumbra, 
of  the  irrational  natures.  In  plain  English,  Alban  was  partly 
tipsy.  Fortunately  for  him,  habit  is  still  a  guide  where  reason 
ceases  to  be  a  light.  Physically,  Alban  could  no  longer  direct 
his  steps — he  made  strange  gyrations  in  dancing,  and  addressed 
his  partner  so  strange  observations,  exemplifying  the  in  vino  veri- 
tatcm,  that  Henrietta,  for  her  own  sake  as  well  as  for  his,  was 
glad  to  get  him  away  from  the  company.  Alban  had  began  to 
talk  about  her  school-days,  evincing  a  knowledge  more  than  he 
was  fairly  in  possession  of  when  in  his  sober  senses,  but  which 


AL  B AN . 


frightened  her  sufficiently.  He  was  giving  her  maudlin  good 
advice,  and  finally  (fur  how  far  the  unprincipled  school-girl  lived  on 
in  the  dashing  belle,  or  what  startled  Alban  into  a  sense  of  his 
humiliating  slate,  our  story  requires  not  to  be  said)  he  broke  from 
her  with  a  stern  rebuke,  such  as  perhaps  only  a  Puritan,  born  and 
bred,  would  have  had  the  heart  to  iiitlict  upon  a  woman,  whose 
fault,  such  as  it  M'as,  he  had  shared.  In  truth,  pride  went  for  some- 
thing m  our  hero's  conduct  ;  but  the  main  thing  was  the  fear  of 
hell ;  for  he  had  fallen  so  far,  at  least  in  his  own  estimate,  that  it 
seemed  to  him  scarcely  an  additional  humihation  to  fall  further, 
perhaps  even  less.  But  come  what  would — seem  craven  and 
spiritless  as  he  might — he  resolved  to  flee. 

The  ball-room  was  still  full  of  light-hearted  dancers  ;  the 
Count  was  indefatigably  waltzing  ;  Miriam  stood  near  a  window 
listening,  with  a  vacant  air,  to  the  compliments  of  Van  Brugh. 
Alban  approached,  pale,  but  with  a  sparkling  eye. 

"  One  more  waltz,  beautiful  Miriam." 

"  Spare  my  tip-toes,"  she  answered,  instantly  breaking  into  a 
smile,  and  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  But  he  whirled  her 
round  the  room  without  missing  a  step. 

"  Since  you  have  really  learned  to  waltz  now,  Mr.  Atherton, 
suppose  that  we  go  home." 

The  distance  that  Alban  and  Miss  Seixas  had  to  accomplish 
was  considerable,  being  nearly  the  whole  length  of  Broadway. 
It  was  at  about  half-past  two  when  the  coach  sluggishly  stopped 
in  State-street.  Mr.  Seixas  himself  came  to  the  door  to  admit 
his  sister,  but  instead  of  getting  out,  Miriam  called  to  him  from 
the  coach  window.    He  came  down  the  old  marble  steps. 

"Mr.  Atherton  has  swooned  in  the  carriage,  my  brother.  We 
were  obliged  to  stop  to  recover  him,  but  he  is  not  yet  conscious." 

Alban  lay  in  the  bottom  of  the  carriage,  with  his  head  resting 
against  the  cushions. 

"  Why  did  you  not  take  him  home,  Miriam  ?" 

*'  I  knew  not  where  that  might  be." 
This  is  the  home  of  his  childhood,"  said  her  brother,  after 


AL  B AN. 


323 


some  meditation,  "  we  cannot  deny  him  its  hospitality.  "  You 
are  strong,  Miriam.  Help  me  lift  the  boy  out  of  the  car- 
riage." 

Alban  was  soon  laid  upon  the  divan  of  the  apartment  where 
we  first  saw  the  Hebrew  brother  and  sister.  The  scene  was  re- 
markable even  for  a  metropolis  which  is.  the  resort  of  all  nations. 
Seixas  was  attired  in  an  Oriental  robe  of  scarlet  and  sables,  having 
loose  hanging  sleeves.  A  high  cap,  in  the  same  style,  crowned 
his  thick  black  curls.  The  jetty  beard  vv^hich  fringed  his  colorless, 
peculiar  visage,  completed  the  ideal  of  his  race.  He  regarded 
with  a  look  tranquil  as  marble  that  pale  face  of  the  youth,  on 
which  an  impassioned  expression  still  lingered.  The  attitude  and 
garb  of  Miriam,  who,  drawn  up  to  her  utmost  height,  looked  down, 
upon  the  insensible  Alban  with  a  strange  regard,  were  not  less 
striking  than  her  brother's.  The  robe  which  Miriam  had  worn  at 
the  ball  was  of  Eastern  stuff,  gold  on  a  ground  of  blue,  fitting 
closely  to  her  flexible  shape,  but  leaving  bare  the  arms  and  supe- 
rior portion  of  the  fine  amber  bust,  where  it  had  a  border  of  gems. 
Her  waist  tapered  so  exactly,  her  bosom  swelled  in  such  harmoni- 
ous full  waves,  beneath  this  vesture,  that  nothing  could  be  more 
admirable  in  female  beauty.  She  lifted  the  skirt  carelessly  over 
one  knee,  the  foot  resting  with  graceful  boldness  on  the  yellow 
satin  cushion  of  the  divan  where  Alban  lay,  showing,  what  a  deep 
slit  up  the  side  often  exposed,  an  under-skirt  or  petticoat  of  cherry 
satin  finely  worked  in  silver.  The  barbaric  splendor  of  this  dress 
was  relieved  by  the  perfect  simplicity  of  her  black  hair  with  its 
Spanish  plait,  and  by  the  light  effect  of  a  veil  of  white  lace  which 
hung  from  her  comb,  and  floated  like  a  mist  around  her.  An 
enormous  taper  of  yellow  wax  burning  on  a  lofty  candelabrum  of 
rosso,  shed  a  soft  hght  on  this  fine  group. 

"  Was  this  sudden  ?"  inquired  Seixas. 

"  He  had  been  saying  to  me  beautiful  but  impossible  things," 
answered  Miriam,  without  taking  her  eyes  off  from  Alban.  "  All 
at  once  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  went  off  thus." 

"  Were  they  ardent  things,  Miriam  ?"  asked  her  brother. 


324 


ALBAN. 


"  It  raay  be.  I  never  heard  such  before,"  replied  the  maiden, 
with  haughty  tranquillity. 

"  Were  the  lad  s  actions  as  strange  to  thee,  Miriam,  as  his 
words?"  continued  Seixas,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  the  eye,  and 
turning  towards  her  his  astute  Jewish  countenance.  "  A  freedom 
passes  for  naught  with  the  colder  females  of  this  land,  which  a 
Spanish  woman  would  resent  as  a  deadly  insult." 

"  Thyself,  Manuel,"  replied  his  sister,  rather  slowly,  but  with 
her  eyes  still  bent  down  on  Athert.on's  form,  "  could'st  not  respect 
me  more  scrupulously,  in  the  days  of  my  separation,  than  this 
young  Gentile  to-night." 

"  A  swoon  from  wine  and  emotional  excitement  is  sometimes 
dangerous,"  said  Manuel,  meditatively.  He  stooped  down  and  felt 
Alban's  pulse,  still  looking  fixedly  in  his  face  with  those  gleaming 
eyes.  "  Remain  with  the  boy,  Miriam,  while  I  seek  a  remedy 
which  may  rouse  him." 

The  countenance  of  the  young  Jewess  underwent  an  instanta- 
neous change  when  her  brother  had  disappeared.  She  advanced 
a  step  and  slipped  down  at  the  same  time  in  a  careless  Eastern 
way,  on  the  edge  of  the  low  divan.  She  took  Atherton's  hand 
into  her  lap  ;  her  soft,  peculiar  face,  bent  down  to  gaze  on  his, 
assumed  an  expression  indescribably  passionate.  She  remained 
thus,  without  motion  almost,  until  her  brother's  step  resounded 
again  in  the  next  apartment,  when  after  a  momentary  sidelong 
glance  of  her  eloquent  eye,  she  bent  down  still  further  and  im- 
printed a  kiss  on  the  youth's  pallid  lips.  For  a  moment  it  seemed 
that  she  would  fling  herself  upon  his  bosom,  but  when  Manuel 
again  drew  aside  the  curtain  between  the  rooms,  Miriam  had 
already  resumed  the  position  in  which  he  had  left  her,  and  only 
the  long  swell  of  her  respiration  lifting  the  gold-wrought  silk  of 
her  robe  higher  and  more  frequently  than  before,  betrayed  her 
recent  passion. 

Go  you,  Miriam, — for  'tis  not  worth  the  pains  of  calling 
servants — and  dispose  the  apartment  over  this  to  receive  the 
young  Atherton.    He  was  born  in  it,  I  have  heard  him  say,  as 


ALBAN. 


325 


were  two  ^fenerations  of  his  maternal  ancestors,  merchants  and 
exiles  like  ourselves." 

"  That  chamber  is  next  mine  own,  thou  knowest,"  said  the 
maiden,  reservedly. 

"  There  is  no  other  where  he  can  fitly  be  placed.  Lock  the 
door  between  thy  chamber  and  his,  if  such  a  lad  inspires  thee  with 
fear.    Thou  wilt  do  that  at  all  events." 

"  Nay,"  said  Miriam,  "  I  shall  do  so,  of  course,  though  not  from 
fear  of  him.    But  do  thou  take  the  key." 

"  If  thy  purity  or  my  trust  in  thee  needed  such  a  precaution," 
replied  Manuel,  "  neither  were  worth  preserving,  I  might  doubt 
him  for  a  moment,  for  he  is  but  a  Christian  after  all ;  but  my  sis- 
ter is  above  the  very  name  of  suspicion." 

28 


326 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

At  about  eleven  o'clock,  on  Friday  morning,  our  hero  awoke  and 
heard  Trinity  bells  tolling.  At  first  he  supposed  it  was  St.  John's, 
thinking  himself  in  Grey-street,  till  puzzled  by  the  room  and  fur- 
niture, he  sprang  out  of  bed  and  ran  to  the  window.  The  Bat- 
tery, white  with  new-fallen  snow — the  wintry  bay,  and  the  tide 
dashing  against  the  old  sea-forts — the  scene  familiar  to  his  child- 
hood— told  him  where  he  was  ;  and  then  he  looked  around  and 
recognized  the  roorn  which,  in  childhood,  had  been  his.  It  all 
flashed  on  him — how  he  had  drunk  too  much  wine  at  a  party, 
had  unpardonably  insulted  one  young  lady,  and  betrayed  to 
another  the  most  ridiculous  vanity  conceivable.  He  divined  that 
the  Seixases  had  too  well  learned  his  condition,  and  had  taken 
him  in  from  pity  ;  for  his  memory  w^as  here  at  fault.  He  could 
recall  nothing  later  than  a  violent  spasm  at  the  heart,  as  he  was 
talking  in  a  most  absurd  way  to  Miriam  Seixas,  in  the  carriage. 
Hurrying  to  the  glass,  he  perceived  a  pale,  haggard  face.  Inter- 
nally he  felt  an  utter  sickness  and  hoUowness,  a  sense  of  misery 
and  remorse.  Glancing  around  the  room,  he  perceived  his  clothes 
laid  in  order,  with  fresh  linen,  slippers,  a  chamber-robe,  and  a 
shower-bath,  with  its  curtains  open.  He  bathed  and  dressed  as 
expeditiously  as  possible,  hoping  to  escape  from  the  house  without 
notice. 

"While  Alban  w^as  dressing,  he  adopted  (as  is  usual  on  such 
occasions)  several  resolutions.  First,  he  would  write  to  ]Miss 
Clinton,  retracting  his  unwarrantable  observations,  and  imploring 
her  forgiveness  ;  although,  indeed,  it  was  manifest  that  he  had 
said  nothing  but  what  was  true.  Then  he  must  see  Miriam,  (he 
would  rather  enter  the  cage  of  a  lioness,)  and  beg  her  to  forget  his 
.folly — at  least,  not  to  mention  it.  And  he  must  certainly  tell  the 
whole  story,  so  far  as  it  was  proper  to  be  told,  to  Mary  De  Groot. 


ALBAN . 


327 


He  had  implicated  her  (fool  that  he  was)  with  Miss  Clinton  ;  and 
besides,  it  was  due  to  her  that  she  should  know  his  weakness — so 
true  a  friend  as  she  was  I  Otherwise,  he  should  feel  like  a  thief. 
But  what  should  he  say  to  his  father  and  mother,  in  explanation 
of  his  staying  out  all  night?  After  involuntarily  imagining  fifty 
false  statements,  he  adhered  to  the  resolution  of  telling  the  exact 
truth.  Perhaps  Seixas  had  already  told  his  father,  and  would  not 
Henrietta  avenge  herself  by  telling  every  body  that  Mr.  Atherton 
got  tipsy  at  supper  ?  Had  Miriam  made  herself  merry  that  morn- 
ing, with  her  sister-in-law,  at  his  expense  ?  Would  it  be  all  over 
town  ?    Poor  young  man  I 

Recalling  some  of  his  impulses,  and  some  points  of  his  con- 
duct, more  exactly,  he  felt  thankful  for  having  been  preserved,  at 
any  cost,  from  such  sin  as  he  had  never  learned  to  contemplate 
without  horror.  We  have  not  dared,  and  certainly  not  wished,  to 
paint  Alban's  temptation  and  Henrietta's  want  of  virtue.  He 
was  sensible  of  little  else  but  the  degradation  of  having  yielded 
at  all,  though  no  one  but  himself  and  God  knew  how  far.  Still 
their  hearts  had  met  in  that  polluting  sympathy,  and  who 
could  tell  when  the  bond  would  be  severed,  or  into  what  closer 
fellowship  of  sin — opportunity  favoring — it  might  yet  unite  them  ? 
He  resolved,  on  his  knees,  and  with  tears,  never  to  see  her  again 
if  he  could  help  it.  So  he  finished  dressing  and  went  down, 
hoping  to  make  his  exit  unobserved,  and  meaning  to  repair  to 
Delmonico's  for  breakfast. 

He  was  met  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  by  Miss  Seixas's  personal 
attendant,  who  invited  him  with  a  sweet  tone  of  arch  respect  into 
a  room  overlooking  the  Bay,  and  adorned  with  innumerable  fine 
engravings,  where  a  fire  glowed  cheerfully,  and  a  table  was  spread. 
Tea,  cofiee,  and  cocoa  were  proffered  him  by  the  sprightly  Rebecca, 
and  a  dumb  waiter,  at  her  touch,  brought  up  every  other  luxury 
of  a  Knickerbocker  breakfast — except  ham  and  eggs.  A  beauti- 
ful bouquet  lay  beside  his  plate,  and  a  note.  The  last  was  as 
follows  : — 


328 


ALBAN. 


Dear  Atherton, — To  save  your  mother's  anxiety  I  dis- 
patched a  line  to  Grey-street  this  morning,  to  say  that  you  had 
kindly  attended  Miriam  home  last  night  at  my  request,  and  that 
on  account  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour  I  had  kept  you,  I  added, 
that  unless  you  had  been  sound  asleep  after  so  much  dissipation, 
you  would  doubtless  send  your  love.  If  I  were  you,  I  would  not 
mention  having  been  ill,  as  it  might  excite  groundless  apprehen- 
sions in  regard  to  your  health  ;  and  I  really  think  that  your  sin- 
gular seizure  was  entirely  owing  to  your  stomach  being  disordered 
by  that  confounded  bad  champagne  of  Clinton's,  which  I  have  no 
doubt  was  made  in  New  Jersey. 

"  Faithfully  yours, 

"  Seixas." 

The  perusal  of  this  note  relieved  our  hero's  mind  considerably, 
and  when  a  cup  of  coffee  had  dissipated  his  remaining  headache, 
he  was  able  to  do  his  breakfast  justice.  He  inquired  cheerfully 
for  the  ladies,  and  learned  from  his  dark-eyed,  intelligent  attend- 
ant, that  Mrs.  Seixas  had  not  yet  risen — a  fresh  consolation, 
although  it  confirmed  an  opinion  he  already  entertained  of  her 
indolence — ^but  that  her  more  youthful  mistress  had  been  up  a 
couple  of  hours,  and  that  it  was  she  who  had  selected  the  bouquet 
for  Mr.  Atherton  from  the  conservatory,  as  soon  as  she  knew  that 
he  was  stirring. 

Fascinating  and  reviving  attentions  I  Alban  admired  the  fra- 
grance and  happy  combination  of  roses  and  myrtle  in  the  bouquet, 
and  asked  if  he  could  see  Miss  Seixas,  not  doubting,  though  some- 
what fearing,  to  receive  an  affirmative  reply.  But  Rebecca,  with 
a  smile  and  arch  toss  responded,  that  at  that  early  hour  he  could 
not  expect  a  young  lady  to  be  presentable.  Not  that  he  must 
infer,  continued  she,  quite  in  the  style  of  an  Abigail  in  Gil  Bias, 
that  her  mistress  was  one  of  those  fine  ladies  who  in  the  morning, 
before  being  dressed  for  company,  appear  in  a  dirty  and  crumpled 
loose  gown,  and  untidy  hair,  or  flit  from  room  to  room  in  petticoat 
and  stays,  and  stockings  down  to  the  heel,  (the  young  Spanish 


ALBAN . 


329 


Jewess  was  evidently  describing  something  very  common  ;) — no, 
it  was  only  the  perfect  modesty  and  dignity  of  Donna  Miriam  that 
would  prevent  her  receiving  a  young  cavalier  like  Senor  Atherton, 
in  a  wrapper,  though  white  as  snow.  Alban  let  her  run  on,  but 
when  he  had  finished  his  last  cup  of  tea,  slipped  into  her  hand, 
quite  appropriately,  a  Spanish  pillared  dollar,  and  begged  her  to 
procure  him  a  moment's  interview  with  her  young  lady  before  he 
quitted  the  house. 

"  Why,  you  see,  senor,"  replied  Rebecca,  dubiously,  "  what 
you  ask  is  hard  and  easy.  No  one  need  know  it  if  you  spend  an 
hour  or  two  with  Donna  Miriam,  for  the  Senora  Seixas  is  asleep 
at  this  moment,  and  Moses  has  gone  on  an  errand  for  my  master 
to  the  upper  part  of  the  city,  whence  he  will  not  return,  I  know, 
before  three  o'clock  ;  and  there  is  nobody  else  in  the  house  but  the 
old  black  cook,  who  is  so  fat  that  she  can't  get  upstairs,  and  An- 
tonia,  the  Christian  maid-servant,  (for  we  must  have  one  for  the  Sab- 
bath, senor,).  and  she  never  by  any  possibility  comes  into  this  part 
of  the  house  unless  she  is  called  to  bring  wood  or  water,  or  a  fresh 
scuttle  of  this  nasty  coal  ;  and  I  need  not  tell  you,  Senor  Atherton, 
who  were  born  in  the  house,  that  Antonia  has  her  back-stairs.  But 
all  these  favorable  circumstances,  of  which  another  would  take 
advantage,  are  just  what  will  prevent  my  young  lady  from  ac- 
ceding to  your  request." 

"  Well,  well,  Rebecca  :  enough  said,"  interrupted  Alban  im- 
patiently ;  "  you  can  but  deliver  my  message  to  your  m^istress.  Say 
that  I  beg  her  to  see  me  for  a  few  minutes  ;  for  I  have — yes,  I  have 
an  important  favor  to  ask." 

E-ebecca  retired  with  a  shake  of  the  head,  which  rather  inti- 
mated her  sense  that  no  good  would  come  of  it,  than  any  fore- 
boding of  the  hopelessness  of  her  errand.  She  was  absent  so  long 
that  Alban  was  beginning  to  despair,  although,  by  a  conamon  con- 
tradiction, he  was  not  sure  whether  he  wished  his  request  to  be 
granted  or  not,  when  at  last  she  returned  with  a  grave,  flushed 
face,  and  with  an  air  of  mystery  bade  him  follow  her.  She  led  the 
way  into  the  back  drawing-room,  which  Alban  had  not  entered 

28* 


330 


ALB AN. 


since  he  had  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  his  childhood's  home 
as  the  dwelling-  of  these  foreig-n  Jews. 

Rebecca  closed  and  locked  the  white  folding-doors  between  the 
two  drawing-rooms,  and  let  down  the  curtain  already  described, 
the  solemn  folds  of  which  on  that  side  were  of  dark  purple,  making 
an  effective  contrast  with  the  old-fashioned  white  pillars  and 
architrave  of  the  doorway  in  which  it  hung.  The  walls  of  the 
room  were  adorned  with  Hebrew  inscriptions  in  gold  and  color ; 
the  seats  and  furniture  M'ere  of  carved  ebony,  with  draperies  of 
purple  velvet ;  and  the  means  for  lighting  it  at  night  consisted 
of  silver  lamps,  ranged  on  tall  stands  or  candelabra  of  ebony,  and 
of  antique  silver  branches  on  the  mantel.  A  fire  of  hickory  wood, 
laid  on  curious  silver  andirons,  blazed  in  the  chimney  as  in  the 
time  of  Alban's  mother.  At  one  end  of  the  room  stood  a  harp, 
and  near  the  fire  a  table  whereon  lay  a  casket  of  ebony  mounted 
with  silver.  Rebecca  turned  the  key  in  a  door  at  the  lower  ex- 
tremity of  the  room,  which  conducted,  as  Alban  remembered,  into 
the  back  hall  and  servants'  stair.  She  also  drew  the  window-cur- 
tains in  such  a  manner  that  no  one  could  see  into  the  room  from 
the  garden.  Alban  wondered  that  the  girl  was  so  long,  and  why 
she  took  these  precautions  ;  but  she  approached  him  again  before 
going  to  summon  her  mistress. 

"  Senor  Atherton,"  she  said,  "my  young  lady  is  about  to  see 
you  alone,  although  I  begged  her  to  let  me  be  present  at  such  a 
distance  that  you  might  say  what  you  liked  to  each  other  without 
my  overhearing  it.  Now  it  is  very  plain  to  me,  of  course,  what 
this  means,  as  well  as  her  solicitude  about  your  breakfast,  and  the 
pretty  message  conveyed  in  those  flowers,  which  I  understand  as 
well  as  she,  (and  I  hope  you  will  take  care  my  master  does  not 
see  that  bouquet.)  She  loves  you,  seiior,  as  you  doubtless  know 
well  enough  ;  and  it  can't  turn  to  good,  for  although  she  says  that 
you  believe  our  holy  law,  and  worship  only  the  God  of  Abraham, 
it  makes  no  difference,  since  you  are  not  of  her  race,  and  she  is 
betrothed  since  she  was  twelve  years  old  to  her  cousin  Josef  Ah, 
senor,  my  mistress  is  not  yet  eighteen  :  she  is  as  simple-hearted  as 


ALB AN. 


331 


a  child,  with  all  her  lofty  manners,  and  though  she  is  loyalty 
itself,  and  chaste  as  the  daup-hter  of  Jephtha,  the  blood  which 
flows  in  her  veins  is  not  like  that  of  your  northern  damsels  ;  you 
must  not  treat  her  as  you  would  one  of  them.  You  have  one  of 
those  calm  glances,  Sefior  Atherton,  which  show  self-command  ; 
think,  then,  for  her  as  well  as  yourself,  and  do  not  by  words,  still 
less  by  caresses,  to  which,  however  innocent  you  may  think  ihem, 
she  is  wholly  unaccustomed,  awaken  the  sensibility  of  my  mistress, 
which  the  more  it  has  hitherto  lain  dormant,  the  more  violent  and 
uncontrollable  will  it  be  when  it  is  roused." 

The  manner  of  the  young  Jewess  was  animated  in  the  ex- 
treme, and  her  language  tinged  with  a  Southern  poetry  from  the 
earnestness  of  her  feelings.  Alban  was  naturally  much  embar- 
rassed for  a  reply,  and  before  he  had  time  to  frame  one,  the  quick 
ear  of  the  maiden  caught  the  step  of  her  mistress  on  the  stair, 
and  she  darted  away  with  an  appealing  look.  Miriam's  voice 
was  heard  without  in  a  tone  of  impatient  reproof,  and  the  maid 
submissively  answering.  The  young  lady  rejoined  more  softly, 
and  immediately  entered.  Rebecca  closed  the  door,  but  before 
doing  so,  looked  in  again  and  made  Atherton  a  quick  gesture  of 
warning. 

The  first  address  of  Miriam  was  always  characterized  by  a 
lowly  bending  modesty.  On  this  occasion  she  approached  with  a 
look  of  peculiar  submission  almost  amounting  to  fear,  and  curt- 
seyed to  him  without  raising  her  eyes  from  the  ground.  The 
usual  richness  of  her  habits  was  wanting  also,  her  attire  being  a 
fine  white  wrapper,  such  as  R.ebecca  had  described,  to  which  she 
had  only  added  a  Spani.sh  veil  or  mantilla  of  black  lace,  placed 
with  care  over  her  head,  and  which  she  gathered  around  her  as 
if  to  hide  the  hght  robe  beneath.  Her  black  hair,  which  never 
was  glossier,  took  a  gleam  from  the  fire,  and  her  eyes,  when  she 
raised  them  for  a  moment,  darted  a  strange  soft  light  which  might 
be  partly  from  the  same  source.  Alban  had  never  felt  her  pres- 
ence so  softening,  and  this  manner,  united  to  what  Rebecca  had 
said,  disconcerted  the  apology  he  had  intended  to  make,  and  left 


332 


ALBAN. 


him  in  a  perfect  perplexity  how  to  address  her.  He  thought  of 
the  bouquet  which  he  held  in  his  hand.  The  flowers,  doubtless, 
did  speak  a  language. 

*'  I  wished  to  thank  you  for  this,"  said  he,  somewhat  coldl)% 
perhaps.  "  It  is  a  kind  answer  to  my  last  night's  presump- 
tion." 

"  I  thought  not  of  seeing  you  when  I  sent  it,  Senor  Alban." 

She  slightly  turned  from  him,  and  bending  her  head,  seemed 
to  struggle  with  a  feeling  which  he  could  in  no  wise  interpret ; 
then  she  advanced  with  a  quick  movement  to  the  table,  and 
opened  the  ebon  casket  with  a  key  which  she  held  concealed  in 
her  hand.  It  was  filled  with  cases  of  red  silk,  containing  a  most 
surprising  quantity  of  jewels.  She  drew  out  the  glittering  con- 
tents, and  spread  them  on  the  table  before  Alban's  wondering 
eyes.  They  were  apparently  the  ornaments  of  an  Eastern  lady^ 
and  of  enormous  value, — bracelets  and  necklaces  of  emerald  and 
turquoise  ;  great  strings  of  pearls  ;  a  girdle  composed  entirely  of 
brilliants  ;  a  Turkish  dagger  hilted  with  rubies  ;  ear-rings,  ank- 
lets, slippers,  and  velvet  caps  for  the  head  that  were  alike  abso- 
lutely one  mass  of  diamonds. 

"  Take  these,"  said  Miriam,  extending  her  hand  to  him  with 
an  inexpressible  air  of  sweetness  and  humility,  "and  go  raise  the 
standard  of  Israel  on  the  land  of  our  inheritance,  if  perhaps  God 
will  deliver  us  by  the  hand  of  a  believing  Gentile,  in  whom  must 
flow,  I  cannot  but  think,  unknown  to  himself,  the  blood  of  our 
sacred  tribe.  I  have  loved  thee  unawares.  That  I  can  no 
longer  help,"  she  continued,  laying  her  hand  on  her  heart,  "  but 
my  faith,  thou  knowest,  is  plighted  to  another,  and  I  must  keep 
it.  A  holy  enterprise  cannot  begin  with  an  act  of  treason.  Take 
these,  then,  and  go  ;  it  is  all  Miriam  can  give  thee,  though  she 
would  willingly  have  given  all." 

He  was  thunderstruck. 

"  Except  thou  fly  with  me,  Miriam,"  he  exclaimed,  adopting 
her  own  tone,  while  he  involuntarily  drew  near  to  take  her  hand, 
"  this  is  impossible." 


ALBAN. 


333 


She  drew  back  a  step  or  two,  with  haste,  and  made  a  repel- 
lant  gesture,  as  if  to  warn  him  not  to  touch  her. 

"  It  is  all  mine,"  she  said  ; — "  the  portion  of  my  Smyrniote 
mother.  'Tis  a  poor  restitution  for  the  heart  which  I  owe  thee 
and  the  person  which  is  not  mine  to  bestow.  I  shall  be  deeply 
grieved — inconsolably — if  thou  refuse  it  at  my  hands.  What  if 
thou  fail  in  thy  daring  enterprise  I  Have  I  not  thought  of  that  ? 
It  will  still  be  a  thing  to  remember  for  ever,  that,  after  ages  of 
contempt,  the  sword  was  drawn  again  for  Judah." 

The  more  enthusiasm  the  young  Jewess  displayed,  the  more 
Alban's  embarrassment  increased.  To  her  the  whole  was  real ; 
to  him  it  had  been  but  a  dream — a  wild  revery  of  imaginative 
ambition.  He  was  not,  and  never  could  be,  a  Jew.  Why,  in  his 
moments  of  greatest  estrangement  from  Christianity  ill-understood, 
the  cold  reasonings  by  "which  Seixas  had  concluded  against  even 
the  possibility  of  a  Divine  Messiah,  had  deeply  offended  him. 
Alban's  heart  was  never  really  divorced  from  Christ,  and  he  felt 
that  truth,  now  when  a  Jewess  of  Avhom  he  was  deeply 
enamored,  M'hose  benevolence  he  had  witnessed,  and  whose  present 
generosity,  as  well  as  the  sincerity  of  her  virtue,  excited  his  admi- 
ration, offered  him  an  immense  treasure  to  take  arms  against 
nothing  else  in  reality  but  that  name  of  sweetness  and  benedic- 
tion.   Never  I 

It  was  a  delicate  ground  to  break,  to  let  Miriam  know  that  she 
was  deceived  in  regarding  him  as  a  young  proselyte  of  the  gate. 
She  faltered  and  changed  color  at  the  most  cautious  statement  he 
could  frame  to  insinuate  the  error  into  which  she  had  been  led  in 
this  particular. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed  of  my  faith  in  Moses  and  the  Prophets," 
said  he.  "  I  still  believe  a  perfect  unity  in  God,  and  freedom  in 
man,  in  spite  of  his  weakness,  Miriam,  I  believe  that  our  justice 
must  be  in  truly  fulfilling  the  Divine  Law.  But  I  believe  also 
that  grace  has  descended  from  the  Most  High  to  implant  this 
justice  in  our  souls.  I  believe  that  a  Jewess  like  thee,  a  virgin 
like  thee,  and  bearing  thy  very  name,  blossoming  like  Aaron's 


334 


ALB AN . 


rod,  conceived  and  bore  the  Hope  of  Jew  and  Gentile  alike — the 
Jehovah  whom  thou  adorest." 

Alban  pronounced  the  sacred  name  in  a  manner  known  only 
to  the  JcAvs,  and  in  which  it  is  uttered  by  them  only  on  certaia 
rare  occasions  of  awful  solemnity,  and  Miriam  who  had  been 
listening  in  a  startled  attitude,  threw  herself  hastily  upon  her 
knees  and  bowed  her  head  to  the  carpet  at  his  feet. 

"Yes,  w^orship  Him,  Miriam,"  continued  Alban,  with  emotion, 
"  the  Notzry  whom  thy  lathers  in  their  ignorance  slew,  but  thy 
God  and  theirs." 

"  It  was  not  that  I  intended,  thou  knowest,"  replied  Miriam, 
rising  with  agitation.  "  But  be  brief,  Mr.  Atherton.  I  compre- 
hend now  that  you  are  still  a  Christian,  but  of  which  of  the  num- 
berless sects  of  Christianity  ?  or  will  you  found  a  new  one  ?"  she 
demanded  sarcastically,  and  haughtily  averting  her  face.  Alban's 
reply  was  prob;ibly  not  unexpected,  for  her  expression  in  listening 
to  it  altered  only  by  being  rapidly  heightened  into  violence. 

"  The  God  of  Israel  has  never  wanted  a  people,  Miriam.  Yes, 
beautiful  but  unbelieving  one,  thy  race  is  not  more  widely  dif- 
fused by  its  exile,  than  the  Catholic  Church  by  its  conquests." 

"It  is  then  a  woman  whom  you  will  adore  I  I  thought  so," 
cried  Miriam,  in  a  bitterly  scornful  tone.  "  Is  it  not  in  the  dark 
eyes  of  one  that  you  have  read  the  pl'oofs  of  your  new  faith  ! 
How  easily  I  discern  your  falsehood  I"  She  drew  herself  up  to 
her  full  height.  "  Gracious  Heaven,"  she  exclaimed,  "  why  do  I 
not  repay  this  man's  treachery  as  in  my  country  the  females  of 
his  own  religion  would  I" 

In  her  sudden  jealousy  and  sense  of  slighted  love,  Miriam 
forgot  every  thing  else.  Her  forehead  grew  purple  with  the  dark 
blue  veins  that  started  up  upon  it.  It  seemed  that  her  passion 
would  stifle  her.  She  caught  up  the  Turkish  dagger  from  the 
table,  and  raised  it  with  a  motion  quicker  than  thought.  The 
armed  hand  descended  with  such  celerity  and  force,  that,  though 
Alban  caught  her  wrist,  he  could  not  so  far  divert  the  blow  but 
that  the  edge  of  the  weapon  divided  her  fine  robe,  and  the  point 


ALBAN. 


335 


grazed  her  "breast.  He  wrested  the  dag^rer  from  her  relaxing 
fingers  and  held  her  in  his  arms.    She  looked  at  him  wildly. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  hardly  able  to  speak  from  panting,  "  why 
did  yon  make  me  think  you  loved  a  Jewess,  and  extort  from  my 
bosom  a  secret  of  which  else  I  had  mysidf  been  unconscious  ? 
And  now  I  stand  before  you  a  woman — a  maiden — whom  you 
love  not,  but  who  has  humbled  herself  to  say  that  she  loves 
you  I" 

"  I  do  love  you  I"  said  Alban,  with  fondness,  though  shocked. 
Be  a  Christian,  Miriam,  not  adoring,  but  venerating  the  blessed 
Mary,  your  namesake,  and  worshipping  her  Son,  the  King  of 
Israel,  as  you  did  just  now  in  outward  act,  and  I  will  joyfully 
take  you  away,  with  the  treasures  you  would  so  generously  have 
bestowed  upon  me.  But  overcome  this  wild  emotion,  proper  to 
guilt  and  shame,  not  to  virtue  and  honor  hke  yours." 

"  Ah,  thou  mockest  me,  Alban.  Yet  thanks  for  holding  back 
my  wicked  hand.  God  of  my  fathers,  what  would  I  have  done  I 
But  release  me  ;" — with  a  peculiar  expression,  struggling  with  that 
of  pride  and  anguish — "  see,  I  bleed  ;  release  me." 

The  dagger  had  barely  grazed  the  skin,  but  the  blood  trickled 
fast  from  the  scratch,  and  Miriam  stanched  it  with  her  hand- 
kerchief, heedless  of  Alban's  eyes.  Her  look  was  of  complete 
abandonment  and  desolation.  Like  most  women  of  her  half 
Oriental  education,  although  sumptuous  in  the  adornment  of  her 
person,  she  owed  nothing  of  its  shape  to  art.  Miriam  wore  the 
black  silk  petticoat  and  chemise  of  Spanish  Central  America, 
the  latter  surrounded  in  the  neck  with  rich  yellow  lace,  with- 
in which  swelled  the  untortured  bust  "  like  two  young  roes 
that  are  twins,  which  feed  among  the  lilies,"  to  use  the  compari- 
son of  Holy  Writ.  What  lover  could  behold,  mimoved,  his  mis- 
tress thus  despairing,  with  her  own  hand  unveil  her  chaste 
bosom  ?  Pity,  delicacy,  gratitude,  a  generous  desire  to  heal  the 
wounds  of  her  pride,  (the  same  feelings  which  had  carried  on  our 
hero  further  with  Mary  De  Groot  in  live  minutes,  than  in  months 
of  an  intimacy  full  of  interest,)  blended  now  with  a  kind  of 


336 


AL  B AN. 


sentiment  which  Mary  had  never  inspired  ;  and,  truth  to  say,  the 
wisest  and  strongest  have  seldom  come  off  conquerors  in  this 
strife. 

"  Hearken  to  me,  IVfiriam,"  he  said,  in  tones  very  different 
from  those  which  he  had  lately  employed,  and  the  young  daughter 
of  the  South  instantly  felt  the  change — "  that  which  has  touched 
thee  so  nearly,  in  my  recovered  faith,  bears  another  aspect,  which 
thou  hast  not  considered.  Had  I,  in  spite  of  the  reluctance  of 
thy  people  to  receive  proselytes,  become  a  Jew,  thy  betrothal  to 
thy  cousin,  scarce  just  as  it  seems  to  me,  would  separate  us  more 
than  ever,  as  th5'^self  didst  but  now  admit.  But  if  thoit  becomest 
a  Christian,  thy  conversion  necessarily  dissolves  thy  contract.  To 
wear  a  mixed  garment  of  linen  and  wool  is  forbidden  by  the  Law 
of  Moses  ;  so,  for  the  baptized  and  unbaptized  to  be  joined  in 
wedlock  is  contrary  to  the  Law  of  Christ.  You  will  be  free  to 
bestow  your  hand  upon  me,  Miriam,  from  the  moment  that  the 
waters  of  baptism  shall  have  separated  you  from  your  nation,  as 
the  Red  Sea  divided  your  fathers  from  the  Egyptians.  I  would 
not  seduce  thee,  Miriam,  even  from  thy  unbelief,  as  I  must  term 
it,  by  the  power  I  may  possess  over  thy  earthly  affections  ;  but 
thy  human  love  may  be  His  instrument,  "Who  made  and  controls 
the  heart,  to  open  thine  eyes,  hitherto  blinded  by  prejudice,  to  the 
light  of  heavenly  truth.  Think  of  that  ungovernable  violence 
of  passion  which  has  so  long  been  hidden  under  thy  virgin 
serenity  of  mien.  Thy  law  condemns,  but  can  it  impart  the 
inward  strength  thou  needest  to  restrain  it  ?  Has  it  power  to 
banish  the  keen  remorse  thou  feelest,  by  the  sense  of  innocence 
restored  ?  Christ  can  do  this  for  thee,  Miriam.  He  can  remove, 
in  a  moment,  the  shame  that  bows  thy  head,  and  calm  the  tem- 
pest which  agitates  thy  bosom." 

Even  during  this  address,  Miriam  had  gently  concealed  her 
bosom,  and  a  further  attempt  to  hide  the  spots  of  blood  upon  her 
wrapper,  by  drawing  the  veil  over  it,  showed  that  hope  was 
reviving  in  her  humiliation,  and  the  faith  that  she  was  beloved. 
Alban,  perhaps,  ascribed  those  symptoms  to  a  conviction  produced 


ALBAN . 


337 


by  his  arguments,  which  were  really  due  to  a  sense  of  her  sex's 
power  reviving  in  the  woman.  Miriam,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
not  sufficiently  reassured  on  that  point,  to  dare  resist  the  caresses 
with  which  her  lover,  giving  way  to  his  passion,  now  seconded 
his  eloquence.  He  recurred  to  the  picture  which,  in  his  delirium 
of  the  night  before,  he  had  drawn  of  their  mutual  existence  in  a 
remote  land.  The  young  Jewess,  who  passed  from  one  extreme 
of  feeling  to  another  with  Southern  facility,  murmuring  a  con- 
denmation  of  her  own  weakness,  tacitly  consented  to  all  that  he 
proposed,  when  the  door  flew  open,  and  Rebecca  burst  in,  an- 
nouncing that  her  master  was  approaching  the  house,  and  that 
madam,  also,  was  just  risen.  The  position  of  the  young  people 
gave  a  different  turn  to  her  exclamations. 

"  Oh  fie,  Seiior  Atherton  !  is  this  your  fine  self  command  ? 
your  arm  round  my  mistress  I    Oh,  sir,  pray  begone  !" 

"  You  don't  understand  it,  Rebecca." 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,  too  well  I  Will  you  go,  seiior  ?  What's  to 
be  done  with  these  trinkets  ?" 

Miriam,  regardless  of  her  maid's  presence,  leaned  her  head 
and  clasped  hands  on  Atherton's  shoulder. 

"  This  is  base,  Seuor  Atherton.  You  will  ruin  my  young  lady 
without  benefiting  yourself  There's  my  master's  knock.  Now, 
if  you  wish  my  assistance  in  future,  senor,  run  yourself  and  open 
the  door  for  him,  while  we  escape  with  these  things  I" 

At  this  suggestion,  Alban  extricated  himself  from  Miriam, 
and  darted  off ;  yet  hardly  had  he  taken  a  step,  ere  he  felt 
tempted  to  return,  for  Miss  Seixas  stood  rooted,  as  if  despairing,  to 
the  spot  where  he  had  left  her.  Rebecca,  seeing  his  irresolution, 
when  every  moment  was  precious,  and  observing,  for  the  first 
time,  the  tell-tale  spots  of  blood  on  her  lady's  dress,  became 
frantic,  forced  him  out  of  the  room  with  a  violence  approaching 
to  fury,  and  locked  the  door.  Even  while  he  threw  on  his 
cloak,  however,  in  the  hall,  the  white  raiment  of  the  Hebrew 
maiden  appeared  above,  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and  Miriam's 
hand,  mournfully  waving,  bade  him  farewell. 

29 


338 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

It  will  be  seen  that  our  hero  is  gradually  emerging  into  light, 
amid  all  the  confusion  Avhich  his  passions  and  the  world  have 
raised.  It  is  in  the  hour  of  temptation  that  the  battle  of  life  is 
lost  or  gained.  Many  are  they  who  fall ;  few  the  victors.  But 
to  be  wounded,  however  severely,  is  not  to  lose  the  battle  ;  to  be 
covered  and  defiled  w'ith  blood  and  dust  is  nothing.  The  point  is 
to  see  who,  after  the  melee  is  over,  stands  with  his  sword  drawn 
in  his  hand,  and  his  enemy  gasping  at  his  feet. 

Alban  has  made  some  points  and  certainly  lost  others.  This 
entanglement  with  Miriam  Seixas  is  very  much  in  his  way,  and 
is  likely  to  injure  the  simplicity  of  his  course.  He  will  be  afraid 
to  submit  himself  immediately  to  the  Church,  which  is  the  true 
and  generous  course  for  him  to  take,  lest  he  should  be  required  to 
abandon  his  Jewish  mistress.  Any  w^ay,  dispensations  would  be 
required,  a  formal  marriage  in  the  face  of  the  Church  must  be 
resorted  to,  whereas  Alban  thinks  of  nothing  but  a  civil  contract 
and  instant  flight  to  a  foreign  land.  As  for  poor  Mary  De  Groot, 
her  image  recedes  away  into  the  distance  again.  In  fact,  her  im- 
maturity has  been  too  much  against  her  with  a  youth  of  Alban's 
age— w^hich  is  the  period  of  impatience,  and  will  not  wait  for  the 
slow  ripening  of  the  fruit  it  covets.  If  Ave  represent  love  as  so 
powerfully  influencing  our  hero,  and  show  his  heart  so  inconstant 
and  open  to  so  many  impressions,  it  is  because  the  heart  of  youth 
is  so  in  fact.  Alban  is  far  from  being  a  perfect  character.  His 
intellect  is  first-rate,  and  his  will  has  hitherto,  upon  the  whole, 
acted  virtuously,  so  that  it  seems  congruous  that  light  should  be 
afibrded  him,  but  not  too  much.  A  man  like  him  ought  to  act 
on  less  evidence  than  would  be  required  to  satisfy  inferior  persons, 
and  if  his  passions  do  not  prevent,  he  probably  will  readily  corre- 
spond to  whatever  measure  of  grace  may  be  vouchsafed  him. 


ALB AN . 


339 


Alban  has  arrived  at  a  sufficient  truth,  viz.,  that  Christianity 
is  one  organized  body.  This  truth,  which  pervades  the  New 
Tejitament,  he  has  seized  upon,  and  we  may  see  ho^^^  if  we  attend 
for  a  few  moments  to  his  meditations  on  the  day  of  his  interview 
with  Miriam  Seixas,  after  his  return  home.  Let  it  not  excite 
surprise  in  any  one,  that  Alban  reverts  to  these  topics  after  such 
a  scene  ;  for  the  soul  which  is  tossed  on  the  sea  of  passion  and  cir- 
cumstance, like  a  landsman  on  shipboard,  naturally  endeavors  to 
fix  its  gaze  upon  the  permanent  object  of  revelation,  as  on  steady 
stars. 

His  parents  did  not  question  him  closely  in  regard  to  his  stay- 
ing at  the  Seixases'  the  night  before.  His  father  asked  about  the 
house  ;  his  mother  inquired  in  what  room  he  slept,  and  whether 
it  seemed  familiar  to  him.  She  hoped  that  he  had  remembered 
to  ask  for  the  ladies  in  the  morning  before  coming  away,  and 
then  she  recurred  to  the  party  at  Mrs.  Clinton's.  As  Alban  knew 
that  Miss  De  Groot  was  not  in  his  mother's  good  graces  any 
longer,  he  was  particular  to  mention  her  refusal  to  waltz,  and 
going  away  so  early  when  every  body  begged  her  to  stay.  As 
Mrs.  Atherton  could  not  find  fault  with  either  of  these  things,  the 
conversation  languished,  and  when  dinner  was  over,  both  his 
parents  disposed  themselves  for  a  siesta.  His  father  took  the 
settee,  his  mother  dozed  in  her  rocking-chair,  and  Alban,  after  a 
short  revery^ — much  shorter  than  usual — took  down  the  Episco- 
pal prayer-book.  Action  indisposes  us  to  dreams.  He  took  the 
common-sense  view  of  every  thing  now,  and  nothing  disgusted 
him  so  much  as  unreality. 

When  our  hero  first  went  over  the  Episcopal  order  of  Baptism 
with  Mr.  Soapstone,  he  thought  it  beautiful.  Now,  with  the 
solemn  baptism  of  Mary  De  Groot  fresh  in  his  memory,  it  natu- 
rally seems  nude  as  well  as  unpractical,  and  he  is  struck  with 
the  sign  of  the  cross  being  left  optional  with  the  candidate.  This 
Church  in  the  very  rite  of  initiation,  allowed  the  catechumen  his 
private  judgment  in  opposition  to  her  own.  The  postulant  for 
faith  was  permitted  to  dispute  and  make  terms  at  the  font  itself, 


340 


ALBAN. 


with  those  who  pretended  a  commission  to  teach  and  haptize  all 
nations.  Nay,  he  rejects  the  sign  of  Christianity  I  "  You  are  not 
to  make  a  cross  on  my  brow,"  he  says,  *'  I  object  to  that  old  su- 
perstition." And  the  Church  lets  him  have  his  own  conceited, 
unhumbled  way  about  it.  Where  is  the  firm,  unhesitating,  au- 
thoritative tone  of  God's  conscious  Prophet  and  Priest  ?  Where 
is  the  conviction  that  truth  and  power  are  hers  ? 

"  No  wonder  the  other  old  ceremonies  of  Christian  baptism 
are  omitted  altogether.  Of  course  it  is  foreign  to  the  notions  such 
a  Church  entertains  of  her  own  powers,  to  suppose  that  insuffla- 
tions, or  touching  the  ear  with  spittle,  or  the  tongue  with  salt,  or 
the  body  with  holy  oils,  can  have  any  spiritual  efficacy  by  virtue 
of  the  name  of  Jesus,  or  that  devils  can  be  cast  out  now-a-days  by 
invoking  it ;  but  still,  M'here  was  her  sense  when  she  failed  to  see 
that  these  rites  associated  Christ's  sacrament  of  spiritual  healing 
with  its  designed  types.  His  miracles  of  bodily  cure,  in  a  way  far 
more  instructive  and  more  productive  of  faith  than  her  cold  textual 
deductions  I  And  Avhen  the  regeneration  is  at  length  complete, 
and  the  new-born  Christian  stands  before  her,  with  the  dew  of 
the  new  birth  upon  him,  what  inexplicable  want  of  tact  leads  her 
to  substitute  an  exhortation  of  her  own  for  those  touching  allu- 
sions to  the  Lord's  parables,  which  the  ancient  Church  employs, 
when  she  gives  her  neophyte  the  lamp  of  the  virgins,  and  bids 
her  wear  and  keep  undefiled  the  white  garment  of  innocence  and 
sanctity,  that  she  may  have  eternal  life  I" 

Alban  laid  down  the  book  and  thought  of  that  character  of 
objectivity,  and  almost  of  personality,  assumed  in  this  great  action 
by  the  Catholic  Church.  She  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  her 
temple  as  a  regal  and  sacerdotal  society,  dispensing  truth  and 
grace.  Her  every  step,  as  she  preceded  her  postulant  to  the  font, 
was  the  step  of  a  queen.  Yet  how  tenderly  she  reiterated  the 
name  of  the  ignorant,  defiled,  and  demon-bound,  whom  she  was 
about  to  enlighten,  cleanse,  and  loose  I  What  is  like  this  majestic 
mother  I  You  know  her  by  her  accents  of  blended  authority  and 
love.    No  false  step-dame  can  imitate  the  sweetness  that  tempers 


ALBAN. 


341 


the  dignity  of  the  true  Spouse  of  Christ.  How  coldly  on  the  ear 
fell  the  "  Dearly  Beloved,"  with  which  the  English  State-church 
begins,  and  the  abstract  tone  in  which  it  calls  upon  the  congrega- 
tion to  pray  for  "this  person,"  compared  with  the  individualizing 
address  of  sancta  mater  ecclesia :  "What  is  thy  name?" — 
''Mary,  what  seekest  thou  of  the  Church  of  God?"  The  mother 
knoweth  her  own  though  future,  and  calleth  it  already  by  name, 
but  the  hireling  nurse  is  not  so.  In  the  Episcopal  order  of  Bap- 
tizing, Alban  noticed,  neither  previous  to,  nor  after  the  act,  is  the 
name  of  the  baptized  mentioned,  but  only  in  the  act  of  baptism 
itself,  where,  indeed,  it  is  the  Catholic  Church  who  suddenly 
speaks,  and  by  the  icomb  of  her  handmaid,  brings  forth  children 
to  God.  And  not  otherwise  was  the  difference  at  the  close. 
^yhen  the  exhortation  which  this  State-functionary,  or  this  fash- 
ionable, secular,  money-holding  Corporation,  addresses  to  the  new- 
baptized  is  concluded,  it  has,  of  course,  no  parting  salutation  to 
intimate  the  existence  of  a  new  bond  between  itself — soulless 
thing — and  the  neophyte's  spirit  :  but  the  Church  Catholic,  true 
to  Her  maternal  instinct,  turns  not  her  back  thus  coldly  upon  her 
offspring  :  "  Mary,''  she  says,  as  if  it  were  a  mother's  kiss  upon 
her  infant  ere  she  lays  it  down — "  Go  in  peace,  and  the  Lord  be 
with  thee." 

All  this  was  but  physiognomy,  although  as  truly  indicative 
of  character  to  those  who  have  the  gift  of  reading  it,  as  the  lin- 
eaments of  a  human  face.  A  deeper  and  more  essential  mark 
of  ditierence  between  the  true,  living  Church  and  the  Shadow 
which  mimics  her  functions,  arrests  Alban's  intelligent  and  scru- 
tinizing gaze.  The  Church  takes  original  sin  for  granted,  or 
that  mankind  are  naturally  lost,  and  regards  herself  as  the  incor- 
porate Society  of  the  saved ;  consequently  she  knows  no  other 
way  of  salvation  but  by  being  incorporated  into  her,  which  in  the 
case  of  infants,  who  have  not  the  use  of  reason,  and  cannot  join 
her  by  will  and  choice,  can  only  be  by  baptism.  Hence  she 
declares,  without  hesitation,  that  infants  dying  unbaptized  cannot 
enter  heaven  or  see  God — that  supreme  happiness  which  God 

29* 


342 


ALB AN. 


owes  no  man  and  grants  to  no  mortal  out  of  Christ.  The  Church 
of  England  follows  this  view  of  the  state  of  infants  dying  unbap- 
tized,  and  consequeiitly'refuses  them  the  rites  of  Christian  burial, 
for  the  just  reason  that  she  cannot  speak  of  them  as  "  resting  in 
the  Lord,"  (since  they  do  not,)  or  imply  in  any  way  that  they  are 
among  the  "  blessecr'  dead. 

Imagine  this  vast  multitude  of  souls  lost  out  of  the  innumera- 
ble redeemed,  wandering  like  pale  stars  in  the  illimitable  outer 
night;  neither  offenders  nor  yet  just;  untormented,  yet  not  at 
rest  ;  the  undeveloped  germs  of  spirits  which  might  have  shone 
brighter  than  angels  in  the  blissful  Presence,  or  groaned,  haply, 
with  demons  in  the  lowest  caverns  of  penal  fire  ;  the  unlighted 
lamps  of  Heaven  ;  the  unkindled  brands  of  Hell  ;  the  failures  of 
the  Eternal  Designer  ;  the  mysterious  abortions  of  the  Universal 
Parent  I  Flowers  of  Adam's  race  coldly  budding  forth  into  the 
unhallowed  light  and  air  of  this  world,  and  swept  down  by  the 
destroying  scythe  to  which  their  lives  were  forfeit  ere  they  began, 
before  the  hand  of  pity  could  transplant  them  into  the  garden  of 
the  Lord  I  we  weep  over  them  hopelessly  as  they  lie,  without  honor 
or  beauty,  on  the  cold,  dead  earth.  Alas  I  Rachel  mourneth  for 
her  children,  and  will  not  be  comforted  because  they  are  not  I 

But  the  American  Episcopal  Church  gives  unbaptized  infants 
Christian  burial,  as  our  hero  observed,  singing  over  them,  "  Bless- 
ed are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord  I"  And  she  omits  the  sig- 
nificant declaration  of  the  Church  of  England,  that  "children 
•which  are  baptized,  dying  before  they  commit  actual  sin,  are  un- 
doubtedly saved."  The  meaning  of  which  is,  that  the  American 
Episcopal  Church  cannot  believe  that  the  Church  is  the  elect 
people  of  God,  or  that  all  who  are  not  of  the  Church  are  lost. 
"  The  consequence  is,"  thought  Alban,  "  that  she  cannot  be  any 
part  of  the  true  Church,  which  of  course  knows  its  own  relation 
to  God  and  to  the  rest  of  mankind.  Any  doubt  or  wavering 
about  the  terms  of  salvation  is  impossible  in  the  Society  of  the 
saved,"  said  he.  "  This  is  trifling  with  us.  I  had  rather  be  a 
Jew,  than  a  Christian  on  such  a  plan." 


ALBAN. 


343 


The  inquirer  meditates  and  concludes,  but  at  the  end  comes 
some  regular  duty  of  his  existing  position.  Mrs.  Atherton  sighed 
with  pleasure  when  her  son  at  length  laid  aside  the  prayer-book, 
and  took  occasion  to  remind  him  of  the  Friday  evening  prayer- 
meeting.  Alban  recollected  that  he  was  a  member  of  the  Pres- 
byterian Church,  in  good  standing.  Whether  getting  tipsy  at  a 
dancing  party,  toying  with  a  wanton  girl,  (though  he  repented,) 
and  proposing  in  the  morning  to  run  away  with  a  Jewess,  par- 
ticularly fitted  him  to  "  take  a  part"  in  an  evening  prayer-meet- 
ing, he  doubted.  These  little  circumstances,  if  known,  would 
scarcely  edify,  if  they  did  not  subject  him — which  was  more  than 
probable — to  the  somewhat  inquisitorial  discipline  of  the  breth- 
ren. On  the  other  hand,  such  was  the  nature  of  these  societies, 
that  a  failure  to  comply  with  this  duty  would  excite  suspicion, 
either  of  some  secret  guilt  or  some  heterodox  bias.    Alban  went 

to  the  prayer-meeting,  and  Dr.   did  not  fail  to  call  upon  him 

to  pray.  A  young  man  from  college  is  always  a  relief  to  the 
tedium  of  these  occasions.  When  the  brethren  and  sisters  spoke 
afterwards  of  the  exercises,  young  Atherton's  prayer  was  singled 
out  for  warm  approval.  There  was  a  freshness  in  his  perform- 
ances which  agreeably  roused  the  mind,  and  an  unction  that 
gratified  the  sensibility.  Certainly,  his  prayer,  that  night,  was 
unhackneyed.  The  rich  quality  of  his  voice,  and  its  perpetual 
variety  of  modulation,  contributed  not  slightly  to  the  charm,  and 
some  of  the  females  declared  that,  on  this  occasion,  it  affected 
them  even  to  tears. 


344 


ALB AN. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

After  meeting-,  Alban  walked  down  to  the  Battery,  and  watched 
the  house  in  ^State-street  for  more  than  an  hour,  in  the  hope  of 
seeing  Miriam  at  her  window.  It  was  with  difficulty,  when  he 
saw  a  light  in  her  room,  that  he  refrained  from  scaling  the  balco- 
ny— a  feat  he  had  a  thousand  times  performed  when  a  boy — and 
endeavoring  to  obtain  a  fresh  interview,  in  which  something- 
definite  might  be  agreed  upon.  His  father  and  mother,  who  kept 
early  hours,  had  retired  when  he  reached  home,  and  in  his  own 
room  he  found  three  notes,  and  a  neat  little  parcel  lying  on  the 
table.  All  were  directed  to  himself,  in  female  hands  ;  and  after 
some  hesitation  which  to  open  first,  and  trying  to  guess  the 
writers,  all  being  alike  unknown  to  him,  he  opened  that  of  which 
the  handwriting  looked  simplest,  and  read  as  follows  : — 

"Fifth  Avenue,  Friday. 
"  Dear  Alban, — I  gather  from  your  note  of  this  morning,  (it 
startled  me  very  much  at  first  reading,)  that  you  have  done  some- 
thing which  you  feel  to  be  wicked  and  silly,  under  the  influence  of 
wine.  I  am  very,  very  sorry,  of  course,  for  you  are  a  dear  friend. 
There  is  no  presumption,  I  assure  you,  in  your  taking  that  for 
granted.  I  wish  you  had  a  confessor,  with  whom  you  could  be 
explicit,  and  who,  besides  advising  you,  could  relieve  your  con- 
science fi-om  its  burden.  Sometimes  we  are  left  to  sin,  to  hum- 
ble our  pride  and  teach  us  our  frailty.  You  may  live  (I  am  sure 
you  will)  to  thank  God  for  letting  you  fall.  Whatever  you  have 
done,  I  beg  you  won't  speak  of  yourself  any  more  in  that  un- 
natural strain,  as  unworthy  of  my  friendship.  We  are  all  weak, 
and  if  God  left  me  to  myself,  I  might  become  the  most  degraded 
creature  that  breathes.  Assuredly,  I  shall  never  cease  to  pray  for 
you.    I  send  this  by  Margaret,  whom  papa  kindly  lets  me  keep 


ALB AN . 


345 


as  a  maid.    She  knows  little  of  her  duties  yet,  but  is  willing  to 
learn,  and  I  take  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  teaching  her.  I 
thought  it  best  to  ask  papa's  permission  to  answer  your  note,  of 
course  without  saying  any  thing  to  him  about  the  matter  of  it. 
"  Your  affectionate  friend. 

"M.  De  G." 

"  She  is  an  angel  I"  cried  Alban.  It  was  like  a  ray  of  purest 
heavenly  light  shining  in  upon  a  gloomy  scene,  illumined  only 
by  red  and  smoking  torches.  He  kissed  the  note  devoutly,  read 
it  over  twice  or  thrice,  and  placed  it  in  his  bosom.  The  next  was 
in  the  third  person. 

Miss  Clinton  sends  her  compliments  to  Mr.  Alban  Ather- 
ton,  and  acknowledges  the  receipt  of  his  note.  Her  delicacy  was 
deeply  wounded,  she  need  scarcely  say,  by  what  escaped  him  last 
evening,  under  a  temporary  excitement,  for  which  she  readily 
believes  he  was  not  to  blame.  She  would  be  glad  of  an  oppor- 
tunity to  explain  more  fully  than  she  can  trust  to  paper,  an 
occurrence  which  appears  to  have  come  to  his  knowledge,  in 
which  her  conduct  and  motives  were  misunderstood.  At  present 
she  would  only  observe  that  even  last  night  she  felt  grief  rather 
than  resentment,  in  regard  to  what  happened,  and  that  she 
accepts  Mr.  A.'s  frank  and  gentlemanlike  apology  as  a  full 
atonement. 

"  Miss  C.  has  observed  the  strictest  secrecy  iir  regard  to  all 
that  has  occurred,  and  trusts  to  Mr.  Atherton's  honor  to  do  the 
same.  Will  he  have  the  goodness  to  burn  this  when  he  has 
perused  it. 

"  Friday  Evening^ 

Alban  read  this  note  also  twice,  and  then,  agreeably  to  the 
request  of  the  writer,  committed  it  to  the  flames.  He  opened  the 
third  epistle,  trembling,  yet  eager,  and  read  : — 

"  My  brother  found  the  poniard  on  the  sofa,  where  you  flung 
it  when  you  had  wrested  it  from  my  guilty  hand,  in  that  moment 


346 


ALBAN . 


of  passion.  Other  circumstances  had  ah'eady  awakened  his  sus- 
picions. He  questioned  Rebecca,  and  she  betrayed  all  she  knew. 
Manuel  is  not  angry  with  us,  Alban.  I  think  he  is  flattered  that 
thou  lovest  me.  He  forgives  me  for  loving  thee,  whom  he  also 
loves.  But  he  has  convinced  me — indeed,  T  knew  it  as  well  as 
thou — that  unless  I  become  a  Christian  I  cannot  be  thine.  Alban, 
I  would  abandon  all  else  for  thee  but  the  religion  of -my  fathers. 
I  must  see  thee,  therefore,  no  more.  I  have  promised  Manuel  to 
accompany  him,  forthwith,  to  the  city  where  Joseph  Seixas 
resides,  and  there,  if  he  will  overlook  what  I  shall  confess,  fuHil 
my  early  contract.  How  my  hand  can  trace  such  words  I  know 
not.  You  are  young.  One  lovelier,  worthier,  perhaps  even  now 
better  loved,  will  console  you  for  the  loss  of  Miriam.  'Twere 
base  and  wicked,  indeed — so  Manuel  has  truly  said — to  take 
advantage  of  your  inexperience,  and  inflict  upon  you  a  Jewish 
wife.  You  must  not  seek  then — it  would  be  vain — to  bend  my 
purpose.  To-morrow  is  the  Sabbath,  and  on  the  day  after,  we 
shall  be  gone.  I  send  you  a  remembrance  of  Miriam  and  her 
weak  love.  Keep  it  for  her  sake.  May  the  God  of  Abraham 
watch  over  you.    Farewell  I" 

It  was  all  distinctly  written.  The  parcel  was  a  jewel-case, 
and  contained  the  Turkish  dagger.  Alban  could  see  Manuel 
Seixas  taking  it  up  deliberately,  and  fastening  his  keen  Eastern 
eye  on  its  ruby  hilt,  and  crooked  inlaid  blade. 


ALB AN. 


347 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Alban  slept  soundly  for  six  hours.  Now-a-days,  when  you  want 
a  light  all  night  you  turn  down  the  gas  to  a  blue,  imperceptible 
flame,  but  in  '35,  our  hero's  lamp  was  burning  on  the  hearth.  He 
took  his  watch  from  the  pocket  purchased  of  Mary  at  the  New 
Haven  fair.  It  was  half-past  five,  and  he  sprang  out  of  bed. 
There  was  no  flowing  Croton  then,  and  in  our  turn  we  have 
almost  forgotten  the  mahogany  lavatory  with  its  service  of  blue 
porcelain.  It  was  a  cold  morning,  and  the  ewer  became  full  of 
ice  the  instant  Atherton  moved  it.  Hot  water-pipes  have  put 
an  end  also  to  that :  still,  there  was  a  generous  hardihood  in  it 
which  we  half  regret. 

Alban  dressed  and  sallied  forth,  bending  his  course  to  the 
cathedral — somewhat  distant.  It  had  snowed  again  in  the  night, 
and  a  gusty  wind  had  whirled  the  sleet  into  drifts.  Over  head  it 
was  clear  and  starry,  and  the  morning  star  ghttered  in  the  south- 
east with  a  brilliancy  which  must  be  seen  to  be  appreciated.  On 
account  of  the  weather,  mass  was  said  in  the  chapel,  more  easily 
warmed  than  the  church.  The  congregation,  although  it  was  not 
any  particular  day,  (as  the  phrase  is,)  quite  filled  it.  When  Alban 
arrived  the  vestry  door  was  open,  and  the  confessional  was  visible, 
with  a  priest  hearing  the  confession  of  a  woman.  After  hearing  three 
or  four,  he  took  ofl'  his  stole  and  left  the  box  ;  the  rest  were  obliged 
to  wait,  and  he  soon  came  out  vested  for  mass.  A  considerable 
number  of  persons  received  communion.  It  was  over  in  half  an 
hour  ;  the  congregation  partly  dispersed  ;  but  a  second  had  come 
in,  and  the  same  process  was  repeated  ;  and  now  the  confessions 
were  going  on  without  intermission.  Alban  waited.  He  did  not 
perceive  Mary,  and  began  to  think  that  the  snow  had  prevented 
her  coming.  He  was  surprised,  at  the  communion  in  the  second 
mass,  to  observe  her  among  the  females  returning  from  the  altar. 


348 


ALBAN. 


She  resumed  her  place  in  a  remote  corner,  and  he  perceived  that 
she  had  been  there  when  he  arrived.  She  staid  through  the  third 
mass,  and  directly  it  was  over,  went  out,  accompanied  by  Marga- 
ret Dolman,  evidently  not  aware  of  Alban's  presence.  He  joined 
them  in  the  street.  The  two  girls  made  their  way  with  difficulty 
through  the  drifts  and  against  the  gusty  wind. 

Atherton  took  Miss  De  Groot's  arm  familiarly  and  helped  her 
along  :  "  Really,  Miss  Mary,  you  ought  not  to  walk  on  such  a 
morning  as  this." 

"  Mr.  Alban  I"  with  a  pleased  surprise,  and  she  went  on, 
struggling  with  the  snow  and  wind. 

A  covered  sleigh  stood  ready  harnessed  before  the  livery  stable 
in  Houston-street  ;  Alban  ran  forward  and  engaged  it  to  take 
them  home.  In  a  minute  it  had  dashed  through  the  drift,  and 
drew  up  jingling  at  the  young  lady's  side. 

"  How  very  kind  you  are,  Mr.  Alban  I" 

He  handed  them  in  and  paid  the  driver  in  advance,  as  if  Miss 
De  Groot  had  been  a  little  girl.  She  thanked  him  in  a  simple, 
cordial  manner,  and  asked  him  to  ride. 

"  My  way  lies  in  another  direction,  you  know.  Yet  I  wish  to 
see  you  to-day.  Miss  Mary.  At  what  hour  shall  I  find  you  disen- 
gaged ?" 

"  At  any  hour  which  is  convenient  for  you,"  with  great  sweet- 
ness. "  I  shall  stay  at  home  all  day  to  finish  some  work.  Come 
when  you  like." 

"  It  will  be  in  the  afternoon,  then  ;  as  early  as  I  can  make 

it." 

The  young  heiress  began  to  expect  her  friend  at  twelve.  At 
half-past  lour  she  was  still  expecting  him.  The  southwest 
drawing-room  began  to  grow  dusk,  for  the  day  had  continued 
overcast  with  spells  of  snowing.  Since  ]\Iary's  return  home  this 
a]):ir1ment  had  acquired  an  aspect  of  feminine  inhabitation  which 
it  did  not  possess  previously.  There  were  flowers  on  the  stands  ; 
the  })iano  was  open  ;  a  cozy  group  of  seats  had  got  formed  in  the 
corner  where  the  young  lady  worked,  between  the  fire,  glowing  in 


ALBAN. 


349 


its  mantel  of  statuary,  and  the  richly-curtained  south  window, 
with  its  balcony  of  stone  overlooking  the  street,  hereafter  to  be- 
come so  beautiful.  At  this  time  Mary  could  see  all  the  way  down 
the  Avenue.  She  was  at  work  on  some  strange  little  garments 
of  muslin.  Not  to  affect  mystery  where  there  is  none,  we  may 
say  that  they  Avere  baby's  chemises,  which  Miss  De  Groot  was 
making  for  a  poor  woman  M'ho  lived  in  a  shanty  on  one  of  the 
Avenues.  Through  Margaret  she  was  rich  in  cases  of  real  want 
of  the  most  touching  kind.  She  had  finished  a  certain  number 
of  the  little  things,  which  were  neatly  folded  and  laid  in  a  pile  on 
a  dark  rosewood  workstand.  Close  by  stood  an  embroidery  frame, 
with  an  incipient  chalice-veil  stretched  upon  it,  and  the  bright 
silks  for  working  it  lay  ready  sorted  on  a  tabouret.  It  was  clearly 
the  young  lady's  intent  to  change  her  other  work  for  this  and 
hide  the  former,  as  soon  as  her  friend  should  come  in  sight. 

At  last,  when  it  was  so  dark  that  she  had  already  put  away 
the  baby  garments,  a  cab  came  up  the  Avenue.  There  was  a 
ring — a  gentle  ring  which  she  knew — and  presently  Atherton 
came  into  the  room.  She  did  not  rise  to  greet  him,  and  he  came 
to  her  cozy  corner.  They  shook  hands  in  friendly  fashion,  and 
Alban  dropped  familiarly  into  a  chair. 

Had  Miss  De  Groot  been  at  work  he  would  probably  have 
begun  by  some  commonplace  observation,  but  it  was  not  light 
enough  even  for  embroidery,  and  she  sat  playing  with  the  pencil 
that  hung  at  her  waist.  He  alluded  at  once  to  her  kind  reply  to 
his  letter  of  confession. 

"  I  feared  that  you  would  feel  so  disappointed  in  me,"  he  said. 

Mary  waited  some  time  before  answering.  "  You  Puritans 
are  so  self-righteous.  You  can't  bear  to  be  thought  weak  like 
others." 

"  That's  the  way  you  view  it  ?" 

"  Certainly.  It  has  given  me  great  hopes  of  you,  to  learn  that 
your  self-complacency  had  received  a  wound,"  with  a  smile.  "  I 
was  quite  discouraged  about  you,  Alban." 

"  1  believe  I  showed  my  irritated  pride,  rather  than  virtue, 

30 


350 


ALBAN . 


in  that  part  of  my  conduct  which  at  the  time  I  thought  most  com- 
mendable." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Mary  hastily.  She  played  with  her  pencil. 
*'  Let  us  not  speak  of  it  any  more,  I  pray  you,  Mr.  Alban.  I  am 
sorry  you  thought  it  necessary  to  accuse  yourself  to  me  at  all.  I 
knew  you  were  human  without  your  telling  me."  And  the  smile 
became  arch. 

"  I  am  going  to  consult  you  now  in  regard  to  an  affair  that  will 
be  a  new  proof  of  my  humanity." 

"  I  dare  say,"  replied  the  young  lady,  her  dark  eyes  gleaming 
with  witchery  in  that  blended  fire  and  twilight. 

"  I  must  premise,"  said  Alban,  with  some  confusion,  "  that  I 
have  got  over  my  Jewish  notions." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  I  believe  you  would  say  that  pride  and  earthliness  were 
behind  the  fact  of  so  strange  an  aberration." 

"  I  don't  know.  Father  Smith  says  that  sincere  and  humble 
persons  who  have  never  known  the  truth,  may  wander  very 
strangely  in  seeking  it." 

"  I  had  sincerity  enough,  but  precious  little  humility,  I  am 
afraid.  And  how  worldly — really  how  sensual — shocks  me  to 
think.  The  hope  of  another  life — the  trampling  upon  this — of- 
fended me.    I  desired  my  Paradise  here. 

"God  has  been  teaching  you,  Alban,"  said  Miss  De  Groot, 
with  awakened  interest. 

'*  Indeed,  1  think  so.  I  am  sure  there  was  never  any  one  more 
unworthy  of  the  gift  of  faith." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  Mary,  dropping  her  pencil  and  leaning 
forward, — "  do  you  mean  that  you  will  be  a  Catholic  ?" 

There  was  something  in  his  face  which  answered  her  before 
he  said  with  his  lips — "  By  God's  grace." 

She  uttered  a  faint  cry  of  joy,  sprang  up  hastily,  and  throwing 
her  arms  round  his  neck,  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks.  She  sank 
back  immediately  upon  her  low  seat,  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
lap.    Alban  turned  paler  than  when  he  read  Miriam's  letter. 


ALBAN. 


351 


He  could  not  say  a  word,  while  she  sobbed  in  her  apron  like  a 
child.  She  lifted  her  face  at  last,  glowing  red,  and  dried  her  eyes, 
without  loooking  at  him. 

"The  Blessed  Virgin  has  heard  my  prayers  I  knew  she 
would,  but  I  did  not  expect  so  soon.  Tell  me  how  it  happened. 
How  did  God  give  you  faith  ?" 

"  It  was  this  morning  at  the  mass  in  which  you  received  com- 
munion, that  I  was  first  able  to  say  with  all  my  heart — /  believe.''' 

"  I  offered  my  communion  for  your  conversion,"  said  Mary,  in 
a  quiet,  natural  tone. 

"Did  you?"  rephed  he,  quite  in  the  same,  as  if  not  at  all 
surprised.  **  I  went  to  a  Presbyterian  prayer-meeting  last  night 
and  took  part  in  the  exercises,"  laughing.  "  But  as  soon  as  1  got 
into  the  chapel  this  morning,  (I  came  there  full  of  any  thing  else,) 
and  knelt  down,  pretty  much,  I  think,  with  the  intention  of  acting 
like  others,  but  feeling  tolerably  sure,  too,  that  there  was  at  least 
nothing  wrong  in  it,  an  indescribable  certainty  stole  over  me  that 
this  was  the  true,  divine  religion.  I  envied  the  poor  people  going 
to  confession  ;  the  Presence  in  the  Tabernacle  penetrated  me  with 
awe,  and  the  image  of  our  Lady  with  the  Child,  above  it,  carried 
me  back  to  Bethlehem.  I  saw  as  clearly  as  could  be  that  let  the 
world  think  as  it  might,  He  was  here  the  same  as  ther^,  in  a  form 
of  weakness,  but  still  the  Almighty  Saviour  of  Israel.  I  had  con- 
cluded thus  before  frorh  mere  reasoning,  you  understand,  nay,  I 
had  soAd  it,  but  now  I  saw  it.  I  heard  the  first  mass  in  that  state 
of  mind.  And  yet — do  you  know,  all  the  while  I  was  uncertain 
what  I  should  do  in  consequence,  or  how  long  I  should  retain  this 
clear  conviction.  I  felt  as  if  I  just  saw  into  the  other  world,  but 
what  would  happen  when  the  vision  vanished  was  be3'ond  me. 
There  was  an  obstacle — something  to  be  given  up — a  great  deal 
to  be  given  up  ;  more  particularly  the  power  of  deciding  upon  my 
own  conduct  in  a  certain  case  where  my  feelings,  my  interests,  my 
honor  as  a  gentleman,  and  every  thing  I  held  dear  in  this  world, 
were  concentred.  I  felt  as  powerless,  Mary,  to  surrender  my 
own  settled  plan  on  this  point,  as  to  lift  the  cathedral  from  its 


352 


AL  B AN . 


base:  I  kneio  that  I  should  go  on  with  it  as  I  had  determined 
and  as  I  wished,  even  if  Hell-fire  were  before  me  as  the  inevitable 
end  of  the  path  I  had  chosen.  Even  now  my  feelings  are  as 
strong  as  ever,  but  my  resolve  is  changed.  And  this  happened  in 
the  second  mass.  The  priest  read  so  distinctly  that  I  could  follow 
a  great  deal  of  it,  and  the  gospel,  rapidly  as  he  articulated,  sank 
like  molten  lead  into  my  heart — '  If  any  man  will  come  after  me, 
let  him  take  up  his  cross  and  follow  me.  For  he  who  will  save 
his  life  shall  lose  it,  but  he  who  shall  lose  his  life  for  my  sake 
shall  save  it.  For  what  doth  it  profit  a  man,  if  he  shall  gain  the 
whole  world,  but  sufTer  the  loss  of  his  own  soul  ?  or  what  shall  a 
man  give  in  exchange  for  his  soul  ?  For  the  Son  of  Man  shall 
come  in  the  glory  of  his  Father,  with  his  angels,  and  then  will  he 
render  to  every  man  according  to  his  works.'  " 

"  I  remember  thinking  of  you  as  I  followed  it  in  my  missal, 'said 
Mary,  with  evident  awe. 

"The  rest  of  that  mass  passed  in  a  struggle  with  myself  I 
knelt  down  again  after  the  gospel  with  the  rest,  I  joined  in  the 
worship  of  the  people  as  far  as  I  understood  it,  I  adored  at  the 
elevation,  but  with  the  dreadful  feeling  that  when  I  looked  at  last 
without  a  veil  upon  His  face  who  was  then  lifted  up,  it  might  be 
a  face  of  wrath  for  me.  After  the  elevation,  I  began  to  pray  earn- 
estly, until  the  perspiration,  notwithstanding  the  coldness  of  the 
chapel,  ran  down  my  body  in  streams.  I  appealed  to  Mary,  the 
Gate  of  Heaven  and  Refuge  of  sinners,  as  she  is  called  in  that  beau- 
tiful litany  you  showed  me  the  other  day.  Then  you  all  went  up 
to  communion,  (although  I  had  no  idea  of  your  being  there,)  and 
the  thing  flashed  upon  me  again.  For  the  love  of  a  woman — a 
mere  creature  and  of  a  fallen  race,  a  fair  corruption,  whose  body 
would  soon  be  dust,  and  her  soul,  without  faith,  go  down  to  eter- 
nal night — would  I  forego  the  sweetness  of  the  Creator  I" — Mary 
clasped  her  hands. — "  For  one  draught  from  the  filthy  puddle  of 
sensual  plea.sure — for  it  was  that  alter  all  which  attracted  me 
— would  I  lose  the  beatific  vision,  and  never  know  what  it  was  to 
possess  and  enjoy  God  I   '  0  my  Author  and  my  End,'  I  exclainied-, 


ALBAN . 


353 


*  take  from  me  every  thing  which  thou  hast  made,  but  give  me 
Thyself.'" 

Mary  had  Hstened  with  mixed  feelings  to  this  burst.  After 
some  little  delay,  several  things  being  said  which  were  of  lit- 
_  tie  importance,  she  inquired  what  it  was  that  brought  him  to 
mass. 

"  This  very  affair  in  regard  to  which  I  still  wish  to  ask  your 
sisterly  advice." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  letter  which  the  reader  will  not  be 
slow  to  identify,  observing  that  it  would  put  her  in  possession  of 
the  facts.  He  thought  that  under  the  circumstances,  he  was  jus- 
tified in  showing  it  to  her. 

Mary  received  Miriam's  letter  with  a  grave,  curious  face, 
glancing  first  at  the  feminine  superscription  of  the  envelope.  She 
turned  towards  the  fire  to  read  it,  spreading  it  open  in  her  lap. 
Before  she  began,  however,  covering  it  with  both  her  hands,  she 
looked  up  to  Alban  and  said — "  Is  it  from  Miss  Clinton  ? — Oh,  it  is 
not  I" — with  a  relieved  air — "  I  asked  because  if  it  had  been,  I 
should  have  been  unwilling — but  no  matter." 

Thus  saying,  she  began  to  read.  Blank  astonishment  was 
first  depicted  on  her  countenance.  As  she  went  on,  leaning  on 
the  elbow,  she  shaded  her  face  with  one  hand,  and  the  other 
stole  softly  to  her  heart.  She  perused  the  letter  evidently  more 
than  once,  seeming,  by  the  motion  of  the  eye,  to  dwell  on  particu- 
lar expressions.  She  remained  a  good  while  after  as  in  thought, 
with  her  eyes  closed;  but  when  she  addressed  Alban,  it  was  with 
a  countenance  quite  free  from  emotion.  She  laid  her  finger  on  a 
passage  of  the  letter. 

"  I  understand  from  this  that  you  have  proposed  to  Miss 
Seixas  ?" 

Precisely,"  said  Alban. 

"  She  is  contracted  to  another  person — is  she  ?" 

"  A  cousin — a  Jew,"  replied  Alban,  dropping  on  one  knee  by 
Miss  De  G root's  side,  and  looking  over  the  letter  still  spread  in 
her  lap. 

30* 


354 


AL  B  AN. 


"  There  is  another  ottoman,  Alban." 
He  drew  it  near  her  and  sat  down. 

"  I  don't  sec  what  you  can  do  in  such  a  case,"  said  Mary. 
"  She  is  going  somewhere  with  her  brother,  to  be  married  to  this 
cousin  of  her  own  faith — isn't  she  ?  And  that  will  be  the  end 
of  it." 

"  Unless  I  can  contrive  to  see  her  before  she  goes,  and  induce 
her  to  change  her  mind  again." 

"  Is  that  what  you  propose  ?"  asked  Miss  De  Groot,  with 
some  quickness,  and  giving  him  back  the  letter. 

"  I  will  presently  tell  you.  You  must  know  that  I  have  ascer- 
tained that  Miss  Seixas  is  going  to  Smyrna.  They  sail  in  a 
Spanish  bark,  the  Mamtel,  with  as  ugly  a  looking  crew  and  des- 
perado-looking captain  as  you  would  wish  to  see.  Now  it  is  easy 
to  foresee  that  when  they  reach  Smyrna,  which  is  a  voyage  of  not 
less  than  seven  or  eight  weeks,  and  may  be  longer,  and  Miriam 
finds  herself  among  her  own  people,  she  will  marry  Joseph  Seixas. 
I  cannot  abandon  her  thus  without  a  struggle,"  said  Alban,  with  a 
resolute  air.  "  If  I  cannot  obtain  an  interview  with  her  before 
her  departure,  in  which  I  may  fairly  try  the  experiment  of  com- 
bating a  resolution,  which,  you  must  have  observed  by  her  letter, 
springs  in  part  from  womanly  pride  and  a  sense  of  justice  to  me — 
I  say,  unless  I  can  obtain  such  an  interview — I  am  resolved  to 
make  this  voyage  with  them.  To  let  a  woman  from  whom  I  have 
obtained  a  confession  of  love  go  away  to  misery  here  and  here- 
after, without  an  efibrt — a  strenuous  effort — to  save  her,  comports 
neither  my  principles  nor  with  my  feelings.    What  think 

you?" 

Mary  kept  her  eyes  on  the  carpet,  except  when  she  gave  Alban 
now  and  then  a  glance  of  surprise. 

"  How  old  are  you,  Alban  ?" 

"  Just  twenty,"  replied  the  youth. 

"  You  have  tried  to  see  Miss  Seixas  to-day?" 

"  I  w^ent  to  the  house  and  was  refused  admittance.  Miriam 
sent  down  word  by  her  maid  that  she  M^as  particularly  engaged 


AL  B AN . 


355 


and  could  not  see  me.  After  that  I  found  Seixas  at  the  synagogue. 
He  was  mild  as  possible,  but  inexorable.  He  said  that  Miriam 
was  free,  and  had  a  right  to  refuse  me  an  interview.  On  his  part 
he  considered  it  her  duty,  and  therefore  he  could  not  be  expected 
to  interfere,  even  for  my  sake.  He  was  deaf,  in  short,  to  my  en- 
treaties, and  only  smiled  at  my  threats  ;  lbr  I  got  very  angry  at 
his  immovable  obstinacy  in  sacrihciug  his  sister's  soul  and  hap- 
phiess." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  a  priest,"  said  Mary,  "  and  impart  every 
thing  to  him  under  the  seal  of  confession  ?  He  will  tell  you  exactly 
what  to  do." 

Alban  shook  his  head.  She  gently  took  the  letter  from  him 
again. 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  seem  unwilling  to  act  the  part  of  a  sister 
and  friend,  when  you  appeal  to  me  in  that  character.  But  how 
can  I  advise,  not  knowing  all  the  circumstances  ?  In  your  note  to 
me  you  accused  yourself  of  some  mysterious  sin.  It  had  nothing 
to  do  with  Miss  Seixas  ?" — "  No,  no  ;  she  is  innocent  as  nature 
can  be." — "  I  thought  so.  Well,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think  : 
that  Mr.  Seixas,  considering  he  is  a  Jew,  is  very  kind  and  wise — 
more  so  than  most  Christians  would  be  in  like  circumstances, 
Alban  ;  and  that  Miss  Seixas's  conduct  is  noble  and  dignified — 
like  a  true-hearted  woman," — with  gentle  warmth.  "  But  her 
passions  must  be  naturally  violent.  True,  she  is  not  to  blame  for 
that.  Still,  dear  Alban,  the  less  any  of  us  have  to  do  with  poniards, 
the  better.  She  has  permitted  herself  to  love  you,  although  she 
was  already  betrothed.  That  is  what  I  least  like.  It  must  have 
been  voluntary  in  part ;  all  love  is.  I  must  say  that  my  notions 
of  fidelity  between  phghted,  or  conscious,  lovers,  do  not  allow  any 
deliberate  thought  of  that  kind  about  another  person." 

She  spoke  in  a  rapid,  unpremeditated,  earnest  sort  of  way,  as 
a  girl  naturally  talks.  Alban  shaded  his  eyes  and  seemed  lost  in 
thought. 

"  I  need  not  a  priest's  counsel  in  this  matter,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  No  priest  can  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know." 


356 


ALBAN. 


Mary  bent  over  the  letter  as  if  it  could  tell  her  what  Mr.  Alban 
wanted  to  know.  She  murmured  rather  shyly,  that  it  was  strange 
he  should  want  to  know  any  thing  but  what  he  must  know  better 
than  any  one — the  state  of  his  own  afiections.  It  seemed  to  her  a 
very  wild  idea  though — that  of  his  going  with  the  Seixases  to  the 
East  against  their  will — leaving  his  college — he  such  a  youth. 
Where  would  he  get  the  funds  for  such  a  voyage  ? 

He  explained  to  her  that  he  had  some  money  left  him  by  an 
aunt,  and  that  even  as  a  minor  he  could  easily  obtain  an  advance 
on  it  from  the  Jews.  An  old  Israelite  had  promised  him  a  sum 
which  he  deemed  sufficient. 

"  You  will  be  betrayed  by  these  people,  Alban.  It  makes  me 
shudder  to  think  of  that  dreadful  Spanish  captain  and  his  crew. 
How  do  you  know  that  they  are  not  pirates  ?  or  slavers,  which  is 
just  as  bad  ?"    She  began  to  cry. 

Alban  was  provided  with  an  answer  also  to  this.  It  was  true 
that  piracy  was  then  not  unknown  in  the  American  seas,  and  he 
conjectured  that  this  Spanish  shipmaster  had  been  at  least  in  the 
African  trade  ;  but  he  was  a  devout  Cathohc.  In  his  cabin  hung 
a  picture  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  with  a  lamp  perpetually  burning. 
In  short,  it  was  by  appealing  to  his  religious  feelings  that  Alban 
had  obtained  from  him  the  information  in  regard  to  the  move- 
ments of  the  Seixases.  The  skipper  and  he  had  made  a  condi- 
tional bargain. 

"  If  I  can  obtain  her  previous  consent,  I  am  to  be  on  board 
when  they  come  to  the  vessel  in  the  morning.  The  skipper  will 
then  haul  up  the  ladies  first — that  is,  Miriam  and  her  maid.  As 
soon  as  they  are  on  d|pk,  instead  of  lowering  the  ladder  down  the 
side  for  Manuel  Seixas,  the  boat  in  which  they  come  is  to  be 
dropped  loose,  and  we  shall  make  our  Avay  out  to  sea  with  what 
promises  to  be  a  most  favorable  wind.  Now  the  question  is, 
shall  I,  in  the  interview  which  I  have  the  means  of  securing,  sim- 
ply ask  her  consent  to  this  plan  of  a  mutual  flight,  saying  nothing 
of  a  change  of  faith,  or  shall  I  make  the  latter  a  prerequisite  ? 
Without  vanity,  I  think  that  could  I  see  Miriam,  I  should  infalli- 


ALB AN. 


357 


bly  succeed  on  the  former  plan,  and  should  almost  certainly  fail  by 
taking  the  latter  alternative." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Mary,  changing  from  pale  to  red  by 
turns. 

"  When  Miriam  is  under  my  protection — after  having  broken 
thus  irrevocably  with  her  own  people  and  family — she  will  be 
readily  won,  I  doubt  not,  by  my  arguments  and  entreaties,  to 
embrace  the  Christian  faith." 

"  Alban,"  interrupted  Miss  De  Groot,  "  sa)''  no  more  on  that 
point.  I  am  sure,  that  not  even  to  save  Miss  Seixas's  soul,  ought 
you  to  persuade  her  to  elope  with  you  as  a  Jewess.  It  would  be 
a  sin  on  your  part,  and  shame  to  her.  You  cannot  go  to  her 
except  to  persuade  her  to  be  a  Christian." 

"  So  I  think,"  said  Alban,  "  but  shall  I  use  the  means  which 
I  possess  of  obtaining  an  interview  for  that  purpose  before  to- 
morrow's light  ?  For  it  must  be  by  night — nor  sooner  than  mid- 
night— and  by  means  of  a  step  which,  for  any  other  end,  would 
be  unjustifiable.  Still,  that  is  not  the  point.  Would  you  have 
me  make  the  attempt  under  the  properest  circumstances  ?" 

The  dinner-bell  rang.  A  glance  at  the  mantel-clock  showed 
the  hour  of  six. 

"  You  must  stay  and  dine  v/ith  us,  it  will  give  me  time  to 
think." 

With  the  natural  manners  of  American  life,  the  young  lady 
herself  conducted  Alban  to  an  apartment  where  he  could  freshen 
his  morning  toilet,  as  well  as  circumstances  allowed.  A  servant 
came  in  to  help  him,  and  preceded  him  down  stairs  ;  and  just  as 
he  arrived  at  the  door  of  the  dining-room,  a  step,  like  a  bird  on 
the  wing,  came  down  the  last  flight.  She  was  in  her  wonted 
evening  array,  without  a  trace  of  haste  or  negligence.  Mr.  De 
Groot  was  ever  enlivened  by  Alban's  presence.  He  ordered  a 
bottle  of  champagne  to  be  put  in  the  cooler.  Our  young  hero, 
Avho  begins  to  be  more  heroic  than  heretofore,  was  not  sorry,  like 
his  predecessors  since  Homer,  to  renovate  his  energies  by  a  stimu- 
lating repast,  after  a  day  of  labor  and  excitement. 


358 


ALB AN. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Dinner  lasted  about  an  liour,  Mr.  De  Groot  indulging  in  an  extra 
glass  of  wine,  and  displaying  a  cheerful  courtesy.  Mrs.  De  Groot 
inquires  respecting  "the  state  of  feeling"  in  Dr.  M.'s  congregation, 
having  understood  that  the  last  night's  prayer-meeting  was  ohn  of 
"  special  interest."  Alban  is  self-possessed,  occasionally  gives  in 
to  a  concealed  humor  in  answering  the  questions  of  Madame. 
Mademoiselle  regards  him  with  wonder,  sometimes  smiles  in  spite 
of  herself,  and  sends  away  her  plate  almost  untouched. 

The  half-hour  after  the  ladies  have  withdrawn  (Mr.  De  Groot 
adheres  to  that  old  custom)  passes  slowly,  although  the  host 
wakes  into  animation,  and  wondering  at  Alban's  apparent  disgust 
for  champagne,  regrets  again  and  again  that  the  vacation  is  so 
nearly  at  an  end.  Then  comes  tea  in  the  drawing-room,  and  the 
card-table  set  with  candles  and  counters,  and  two  fresh  packs. 
The  patroon  claims  his  rubber  on  account  of  Alban's  being  there. 

"  After  w^hich,  Mary  (I  see  her  impatience)  may  take  you  into 
any  snug  corner  she  hkes.  I  declare,  Atherton,  I  believe  I  shall 
miss  you  as  much  as  she  will." 

Miss  De  Groot,  having  employed  the  interval  between  dinner 
and  tea  to  visit  her  own  room,  had  regained  her  serenity  :  still  she 
revoked  in  the  first  hand  and  thereby  lost  the  game  ;  whereat  hier 
father,  being  her  partner,  was  irritated,  and  talked  of  people 
being  so  much  in  love  that  they  could  not  mind  their  cards. 
Mademoiselle  blushed  a  little,  and  became  more  attentive  ;  they 
won  the  rubber,  which  restored  the  patroon's  good  humor. 

"  Now  take  Mr.  Alban  where  you  please,  child.  The  library 
has  a  fire,  and  is  a  famous  place  for  tcte-a-tctes.  Please  to  con- 
sider, Atherton,  that  I  give  in  to  this  New  England  custom,  on 
the  ground  of  your  being  too  thorough-bred  a  Knickerbocker  to 
abuse  the  concession." 


ALBAN. 


359 


The  young  lady  flitted  before  him.  The  library  was  darkish 
and  light  by  fits,  as  the  flickering  fire  of  Liverpool  coal  allowed, 
and  Mary,  after  a  glance  at  the  sentimental  locale,  passed  on  to 
the  lobby,  which  she  had  once  pointed  out  to  Alban  as  fit  for  the 
interviews  of  lovers.  It  was  worse  than  the  library,  but  she 
stopped  there,  going  to  the  oriel  as  the  lightest  spot ;  for  the  only 
illumination  came  from  a  street  lamp,  through  the  stained  glass, 
shedding  a  mystic,  patchwork  beam  upon  the  dark  wainscoting. 
It  sufficed  to  render  visible  on  the  young  lady's  face  the  reserved 
expression  natural  to  one  of  her  sex  who  remembered  that  her 
companion  had  so  recently  enjoyed  similar  interviews  with  others ; 
and  presently  she  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  and  wept — a 
still,  silent  shower  of  tears  that  soon  wet  through  the  cambric. 

"  How  can  I  give  my  sisterly  advice,"  she  suddenly  exclaimed, 
with  a  sort  of  gentle  passion,  "  when  I  am  a  party  interested. 
Really,  Alban,  your  coming  to  me  about  this,  is  the  most  indeli- 
cate thing  1  ever  heard  of" 

"  Mary  I" 

"  If  you  run  away  with  Miss  Seixas,  every  body  will  say  that 
you  have  jilted  me.  Papa  will  be  very  angry.  Now  let  me 
finish  ;  don't  speak,  Alban,  till  I  have  said  all  I  have  got  to  say. 
I  have  never  formed  any  false  notions  myself  in  regard  to  your 
friendship.  I  knew  all  along  that  you  considered  me  as  a  little 
girl.  Because  you  are  such  a  scholar,  and  take  the  lead,  in  col- 
lege, of  men  grown,  you  seem  to  yourself  very  mature  :  whereas, 
in  society,  j'ou  are  only  a  youth,  a  boy  under  age,  a  college  stu- 
dent, which  is  nothing  at  all  ; — a  girl  like  Henrietta  Clinton 
thinks  she  can  twist  you  round  her  little  finger  ;  and  nobody 
else  would  have  taken  any  notice  of  you,  unless  they  had  sup- 
posed, from  your  appearing  with  us,  that  I  had  been  so  silly  as  to 
engage  myself,  before  I  am  seventeen,  to  an  under-graduate. 
Now  I  am  a  young  lady  in  society — ^girl  as  I  am — and  if  I  were  to 
be  married  in  six  months,  people  might  say  it  was  a  pity,  but  no 
one  would  think  it  strange.  'Twas  but  yesterday  that  the  Count 
called  on  papa,  with  Mr.  Seixas  to  back  his  representations  of  his 


360 


ALBAN. 


family  and  fortune',  and  made  proposals  for  me  in  the  foreign  way  ; 
and  papa  told  him  he  did  not  wish  me  to  marry  out  of  my  own 
country,  and  besides,  that  my  afiections,  he  beheved,  were  already 
engaged.  You  see,  Mr.  Alban,  how  the  case  stands.  Papa  took 
a  fancy  to  you  from  the  first.  I  saw  by  the  way  he  acted  and 
talked,  that  Sunday  evening  at  Mr.  Everett's,  and  by  his  choosing 
to  go  down  with  you  to  New  York,  instead  of  staying  a  few  days, 
and  then  turning  me  over  to  you  on  the  steamboat,  that  his  mind 
was  made  up  to  have  you  for  a  son.  I  am  sure  you  have  every 
reason  to  be  flattered  by  his  partiality.  I  observe,  indeed,  that 
other  people  who  have  experience,  like  you  ;  and,  for  myself,  it 
seems  to  me  quite  natural  they  should  ;  but  I  never  dreamed  of 
your  doing  such  a  thing  as  to  fall  seriously  in  love  with  a  Jew- 
ess, who  is  espoused  to  another  person,  and  audaciously  winning 
her  affection,  (she  must  be  very  susceptible,)  and  proposing  to 
elope  with  her,  and  that  at  the  moment  when  you  profess  to  have 
been  converted  to  the  Catholic  faith.  Least  of  all  would  I 
dream  that  you  would  come  to  ask  my  advice  on  the  subject.  All 
this  is  strange  to  me,  Alban,  and  places  you  in  a  perfectly  new 
light.  It  makes  me  almost  wish  I  had  never  known  you,  and 
quite  that  I  had  never  given  you  so  many  marks  of  an  affection, 
which,  I  take  Heaven  to  witness,  a  sister,  so  far  as  I  know,  might 
have  felt  without  blame." 

"  It  appears,"  said  Alban,  when  she  had  finished,  "  that  what 
I  thought  is  true.  You  have  a  claim  upon  my  delicacy,  which  I 
should  disregard  by  pursuing  this  affair.  I  might  have  seen  it 
without  trying  your  feelings  thus,  if  I  had  not  been  blinded  by 
the  remains  of  passion  and  the  obstinacy  of  my  will.  To  recede, 
after  taking  a  step,  is  so  painful  to  me.  Yes,  I  might  have  saved 
this  if  I  had  gone  to  a  priest  at  once." 

She  spoke  of  his  parents.  Any  clergyman  would  tell  him 
that  it  was  sinful,  in  such  matters,  to  act  without  their  advice 
and  consent.  Then  the  rashness  I  It  made  her  wonder  to  hear 
him  speak  of  a  voyage  in  the  company  of  that  beautiful  Jewess — 
so  ardent  and  impulsive. 


ALBAN . 


361 


'*  Yet  see  her,  Alban,  if  you  can  obtain  an  interview  without 
violating  decorum,  and  try  to  persuade  her  to  become  a  Christian. 
If  she  consents,  bring  her  here.  I  will  receive  her  as  a  sister, 
and  I  answer  for  my  father's  not  objecting.  She  can  stay  with 
me  until  you  have  graduated  and  are  of  age,  and  then  you  can  be 
honorably  married.  I  would  be  bridesmaid  and  all  that" — speak- 
ing quick — "  and  happy  as  Miss  Seixas  herself." 

"  But  if  I  cannot  see  her  without  violating  decorum — without 
scaling  her  window  at  night,  for  instance,"  said  Alban,  blushing 
in  the  dark.  "  As  a  young  inexperienced  brother,  I  ask  the  ques- 
tion of  a  sister  the  instincts  of  whose  sex  are  wisdom." 

"  Don't  dream  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Mary,  with  a  candid 
glance  and  an  extremely  gentle  accent.  "  Dear  Alban,  we  have 
no  means  of  securing  our  virtue  except  by  never  putting  it  volun- 
tarily in  peril.  When  you  have  been  a  Catholic  a  very  little  while, 
you  will  not  ask  such  questions." 

"  And  what  return  shall  I  make  for  your  kindness  ?"  said 
Alban.  The  whole  scene  inspired  him  with  a  sudden  impulse. 
Something  ho  felt  was  due  to  this  blameless  friend,  whose  pride, 
if  not  her  affection,  he  had  wounded,  yet  who  showed  no  resent- 
ment. He  sank  on  one  knee  and  took  her  hand.  She  tried  to 
withdraw  it,  but  did  not  till  he  had  kissed  it.  "  I  have  been  far 
from  a  true  knight,  Mary,  but  you  are  the  truest  of  ladies  ever 
heard  of — the  tenderest  and  most  forgiving  mistress  that  ever  was. 
The  only  return  I  can  make  is  to  ask  you  to  love  and  pray  for 
rae  as  heretofore,  and  one  of  these  days,  perhaps,  I  may  be  more 
worthy  of  you." 

She  bade  him  good  night  in  a  less  composed  voice,  and  moved 
shyly  towards  the  door  of  the  private  stair.  She  paused  with  her 
hand  on  the  lock. 

"  Be  faithful  to  your  religion,  Mr.  Alban.  No  human  respects 
will  now  be  mixed  with  it.  Do  not  defer  seeing  a  priest,  and  pray 
for  me  when  you  have  been  received  into  the  Church." 

She  opened  the  door  quietly  and  stole  up  the  stair.  He  listened 
till  the  sound  of  her  steps  was  lost  in  the  corridor  of  the  story  above. 

81 


BOOK  V. 


CHAPTER  I. 

We  must  take  the  reader  once  more  to  New  Haven,  and  intro- 
duce him  or  her  to  the  interior  of  a  room  in  North  College,  fire- 
glowing,  red-curtained,  book-shelved,  study-tabled.  The  student 
sat  in  a  rocking-chair  by  the  fire,  with  his  feet  on  the  Franklin,  his 
trowsers  strapless,  his  waistcoat  unbuttoned,  neckcloth  laid  aside, 
his  dilapidated  frock-coat  showing  the  shirt-sleeves  at  the  elbows 
and.  at  wide  gaps  beneath  the  arms,  the  buttons  off,  and  the  button- 
holes torn  through,  and  the  silk  lining  completely  in  tatters.  But 
for  two  or  three  other  points,  the  young  man  would  have  seemed 
as  great  a  sloven  as  could  be  found  in  an  American  college.  His 
morocco  slippers  were  whole  and  not  turned  down  at  the  heel  ;  the 
"white  cotton  stockings  protruding  from  the  strapless  trowsers  were 
spotless  as  a  young  lady's,  and  the  linen  so  liberally  displayed  by 
his  open  waistcoat  and  gaping  elbows  would  have  dressed  an 
Englishman  for  a  dinner  party.  But  the  careless  brown  locks 
clustering  and  curling  over  the  ears  would  not  have  satisfied 
English  precision,  notwithstanding  the  clearness  of  the  brow  and 
cheek  they  shaded,  and  of  the  hand  half-buried  in  them,  as  the 
student  leaned  on  his  elbow.  Being  the  study-hour,  he  had  in 
hand  a  volume  of  Plato's  Republic,  while  a  great  folio  lexicon 
lay  open  on  the  floor  by  his  side,  so  that  he  could  reach  it  by 


ALB AN. 


363 


stooping  a  little,  as  he  half  sat,  half  lounged,  in  the  low  chintz- 
cushioned  rocking-chair,  which  no  American  collegian  is  willingly 
without. 

There  was  a  short  authoritative  rap  at  the  study  door,  and  a 
gentleman  entered,  without  waiting  for  an  answer  to  the  warning. 
The  intruder  was  a  man  of  about  thirty,  pale  but  in  good  flesh, 
scrupulously  attired  in  black,  with  a  neat  white  neckcloth.  The 
student  sprang  up  and  remained  standing.  The  tutor's  duty  is  to 
make  such  calls,  and  generally  it  is  absolved  by  opening  the 
door,  exchanging  a  bow  with  the  occupants  of  the  room,  and 
retiring.  But  this  gentleman  came  decidedly  in,  and  the  young 
man  offered  him  a  chair. 

"  Where  is  your  cousin  ?" 

"  Henry  is  out  somewhere,  sir.  I  have  not  seen  him  since 
breakfast." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  alone.  I  want  to  have  some  conver- 
sation with  you,  Atherton." 

Alban  had  already  laid  his  Plato  carelessly  on  its  face  upon  the 
lexicon.    The  Professor  took  it  up. 

"  You  have  made  beautiful  recitations  in  the  Republic  I  hear, 
Atherton.  It  is  agreed,  I  understand,  that  you  are  to  have  the 
last  '  oration.'  It  is  really  a  higher  honor  than  the  valedictory, 
and  all  the  initiated  people  present  at  commencement  understand 
it  so.  I  expect  to  enjoy  your  oration,  as  I  enjoy  every  thing  you 
write." 

"  You  have  always  been  too  partial  to  me,  sir." 

"  You  told  me  last  term  that  you  had  some  difficulties  about 
the  evidences  of  religion.  I  suppose  you  have  settled  that  point 
with  yourself,  eh  ?" 

*'  I  think  so,  sir." 

"  And  you  are  convinced  of  the  truth  of  revelation,  I  hope  ?" 
"  duite  convinced,  sir.    I  am  sorry  and  ashamed  to  have  ever 
doubted." 

*'  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  Professor  B  , 

with  emphasis.    "  In  fact,  from  some  things  you  have  let  fall  in 


364 


ALB AN . 


your  answers,  or  some  questions  you  have  asked,  at  the  Natural 

Theology  Lecture,  Dr.  got  the  impression  that  you  were — as 

he  expressed  it — a  concealed  infidel.  I  told  him  you  were  the 
last  man  in  the  world  to  be  a  'concealed'  any  thing.  I  have 
always  found  you  frank  to  a  fault.  But  you  did  not  partake  of 
the  sacrament  last  Sunday,  they  say,  although  you  were  present. 
Some  of  our  quidnuncs,  in  fact,  are  a  little  excited  about  you, 
Atherton.  Just  give  me  a  word  to  quiet  them.  I  suppose  you 
are  fancying  that  you  are  not  worthy,  or  something  of  that  sort." 

"  I  went  to  chapel  with  the  intention  of  receiving,"  said 
Alban,  "but — I  did  not  dare." 

"  I  thought  so.  Oh,  well,  you  must  get  over  that.  It  is  dis- 
creditable to  your  clear  judgment.  We  are  all  unworthy,  in  one 
sense." 

"  It  was  not  my  own  unworthiness — great  as  it  is — which 
deterred  me,"  said  Alban,  uneasily. 
"  What  then  ?" 

"  Really,  sir,  I  would  rather  be  excused  from  answering.  It 
is  a  matter  which  I  have  confined  strictly  to  my  own  breast." 

"  That  is  not  wise,  my  dear  Atherton.  Heally,  I  did  not  sup- 
pose that  there  was  this  weak  spot  in  your  manly  organization. 
I  never  should  have  suspected  you  of  brooding  over  these  morbid 
scruples." 

"  I  feel  no  such  scruples  as  you  suppose,  sir,"  said  Alban.  "  I 
doubt  whether  the  Lord's  Supper,  as  administered  among  us,  is 
the  sacrament  at  all." 

"  Oh  I"  said  the  Professor,  "  you  have  been  too  much  with 
that  weak  fellow,  Soapstone.  You  are  going  to  turn  Episcopalian, 
eh,  Atherton  ?" 

This  was  said  in  a  tone  of  undisguised  contempt. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  turn  Episcopalian,  I  assure  you,  sir,"  said 
Alban,  much  annoyed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  are.  If  you  have  got  doubts  into  your  head 
about  ordination,  and  apostolic  succession,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  you  will  become  an  Episcopalian  sooner  or  later.    I  never 


ALBAN . 


365 


knew  a  case  that  turned  out  otherwise.  It  indicates  a  weak  spot, 
as  I  told  you  ;  and  weak  spots  always  betray  themselves." 

"  Harry  is  going  to  join  the  Episcopalian  Church,"  said  Alban, 
"  and  yet  I  have  done  every  thing  in  my  power  to  dissuade  him 
from  it.  But  Miss  Ellsworth's  bright  eyes,  and  the  charm  of  the 
beautiful  Liturgy,  are  more  than  a  match  for  my  arguments.  I 
have  actually  lost  all  my  influence  over  Henry  by  the  ground  I 
have  taken  in  reference  to  the  subject." 

"  You  hope  to  introduce  Episcopacy  and  Liturgies  among  our- 
selves ?  I  have  heard  of  such  an  idea.  It  is  the  first  thought 
of  a  youth  who  begins  to  see,  as  he  says,  '  the  importance  of  these 
things.'  Well,  try  it,  Alban.  But  take  my  word  for  it,  you  will 
only  do  yourself  harm.  You  will  pass  for  a  silly  visionary. 
Every  body  will  laugh  at  you.  Our  own  people,  of  course,  will ; 
for  they  don't  want  to  be  turned  into  Episcopalians  ;  if  they  did, 
they  would  take  the  shorter  way  of  joining  the  Episcopal  Church. 
And  Episcopalians  will  only  say  that  you  are  grossly  inconsistent, 
and  that  you  ought  to  come  into  '  the  Church'  at  once." 

"  They  would  be  quite  right,"  said  Alban.  "  It  would  be  the 
height  of  absurdity  to  go  about  to  reconstruct  the  Church  on  a 
supposed  divine  model,  when,  if  the  Church  be  a  divine  thing  at 
all,  it  must  exist  in  the  world  ready  made  to  our  hands.  If  I 
were  satisfied  with  the  Episcopal  Church,  I  would  join  it ;  but 
I  am  not.  The  Church,  it  seems  to  me,  is,  at  least,  the  faith  that 
believes  Christ  and  the  love  which  embraces  Him,  made  visi- 
ble. The  Episcopal  Church  neither  behoves  nor  loves  as  I  do. 
Its  articles  outrage  my  faith,  and  its  Liturgy  disappoints  my 
heart." 

"  Well,  and  heartily  said  I  I  declare,  Atherton,  you  have  no 
idea  how  you  relieve  my  mind.  To  see  your  fine  understanding 
beclouded  by  this  fog  of  Episcopacy, — a  mere  unmeaning,  super- 
stitious formalism — would  have  been  too  pitiable.  But  what  do 
you  mean  then  about  the  Sacrament  ?  I  hope  you  are  not  getting 
into  the  mystical  line,  and  renouncing  outward  forms  altogether. 
This  has  ensnared  some  choice  intellects,  refining  too  much  for 

31* 


366 


ALBAN. 


humanity.  We  need  memorials.  It  is  not  philosophical,  Atherton, 
to  overlook  the  immense  influence  that  the  Lord's  Supper  has 
exercised  over  the  feelings  of  Christians  in  all  ages.  It  has  revivified 
their  love  for  the  Redeemer  almost  more  than  every  thing  else. 
Don't  you  feel,  now,  that  this  is  true  ?" 
"  Certainly.'' 

The  Professor  was  nonplussed.  He  thought  he  had  explored 
the  whole  ground.  What  point  was  left  ?  He  began  to  feel  pro- 
voked with  Atherton. 

"  Pray,  let  me  know  what  is  your  difficulty,"  he  said  with 
irritation.  "  My  whole  wish  is  to  serve  you,  and  it  is  hardly 
treating  me  well  to  let  me  go  on  beating  about  the  bush  in  the 
dark." 

"  I  have  been  in  some  confusion  as  to  my  duties,  sir,  from  my 
being  actually  a  member  of  the  College  Church,  Obedience  to 
my  father,  and  love  for  my  mother  keep  me  from  openly  avowing 
a  change  which  has  taken  place  in  my  faith,  I  had  persuaded 
myself  that  I  might  innocently  join  a  company  of  Christians  with 
whom  I  was  providentially  associated,  in  partaking  of  bread  and 
wine  in  memory  of  Christ's  death.  But  when  it  came  to  the  point, 
I  shrank  from  doing  it,  for  whatever  it  is  to  them,  to  me  it  could  be 
nothing  but  a  sacrilegious  substitution  for  the  adorable  sacrament  of 
love  in  which  I  believe." 

The  Professor  stared  as  if  he  thought  him  deranged. 

"  At  one  time,  not  long  ago,"  continued  Alban,  with  some  ex- 
citement of  manner,  "  I  was  forced  by  the  manifest  contradiction 
between  our  New  England  religion  and  the  Bible  to  retreat  upon 
the  Hebrew  position.  I  found  there  an  ancient  revelation  and  a 
living  witness  in  perfect  harmony," 

The  Professor  gave  him  a  look  of  piercing  scrutiny,  but  was 
silent, 

"  It  was  deeply  painful  to  me  to  have  these  ideas,  Christ  was 
dear  to  me  : — yes.  He  was  dear  to  me  through  it  all.  I  could 
never  bear  to  hear  Him  spoken  of  with  irreverence.  Somehow,  I 
had  an  idea  that  He  was  the  real  Messiah,  but  that  neither  His 


ALB AN. 


367 


own  nation,  nor  His  actual  followers  had  understood  him.  I  grew 
more  and  more  bewildered.  I  began  to  look  for  Him  to  reappear. 
I  was  desirous  of  going  to  Palestine,  in  the  hope,  mixed  with 
many  a  carnal  aspiration,  of  seeing  Him.  My  heart  cried  out  for 
Christ." 

Alban  shed  some  quiet  tears.  The  Professor  now  regarded  hirai 
with  a  mixture  of  fear  and  pity. 

"  We  will  talk  over  these  things  another  time,  my  dear  Ather- 
ton.    You  are  excited  at  present." 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Alban.  "  Now  I  have  begun,  let  me 
finish.  I  can  do  it  in  a  word.  I  have  found  Christ  where  alone 
He  really  is  on  this  earth,  I  have  not  as  yet  found  Him,  indeed, 
as  I  hope  to  find  Him,  but  I  know  where  to  seek  Him  ;  and  he 
who  knows  where  to  seek  has  already  found.  It  is  not  in  Syria, 
sir,  but  it  is  in  Jerusalem,  in  a  city  set  on  a  hill,  of  which  all  men 
know  at  least  so  much  as  this,  that  He  is  said  to  be  there.  In 
faith,  sir,"  continued  Alban,  recovering  his  usual  quiet  manner  of 
a  sudden, — "  in  faith,  I  am  now,  what  you,  perhaps,  will  consider 
worse  and  more  foolish  than  an  Episcopalian  : — namely,  a  Roman 
Catholic." 

"  Poor  Atherton  I  I  do  believe  his  head  is  turned,"  thought  the 
Professor.  "  Next  he  will  say  that  he  is  a  Mahometan.  Or  if 
not  crazy,  he  is  dangerous.  His  influence  is  unbounded  over  cer- 
tain minds.  There  are  a  dozen  fellows  in  the  senior  class  alone, 
who  would  follow  him  anywhere  he  chose  to  lead.  This  must 
be  looked  to  in  time.  A  Roman  Catholic  I  oh,  he  is  clearly  not 
sane.  I  must  talk  this  over  with  you  another  day,  Atherton,"  he 
added  aloud.  "  At  present,  I  see,  you  are  busy  with  Plato.  Good 
morning.  And  Atherton, — I  hope  you  will  keep  this  matter 
to  yourself  That's  right.  Hem  I"  concluded  the  Professor,  as 
the  door  closed  upon  him.  "  I  must  communicate  this  forthwith 
to  the  President." 


368 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  II. 

According  to  the  interpretation  of  many  CathoHc  expositors  of 
the  imystical  Book  of  Revelations,  it  is  a  little  more  than  three 
hundred  years  ago  since  the  star  fell  from  heaven  upon  the  earth, 
to  whom  was  given  the  key  of  the  bottomless  pit.  This  is  agree- 
able to  the  rules  of  symbolic  interpretation  recently  laid  down  by 
Mr.  Lord,  and  now,  we  believe,  generally  received  by  his  Protest- 
ant brethren,  viz.,  that  a  star  signifies  a  Christian  teacher,  and  a 
star  falling  from  heaven  the  apostasy  of  such  a  teacher.  That 
the  star  fell  upon  the  earth  intimates  (agreeably  to  the  same  sys- 
tem) that  this  teacher  fell  from  the  divine  to  the  human  sphere 
in  his  doctrine  ;  and  the  key  of  the  bottomless  pit  being  given  him, 
that  he  opened  an  abyss  to  which  there  is  really  no  bottom,  by 
appealing  to  human  reason  as  the  interpreter  of  the  divine  word  ; 
from  which  arose  a  smoke  which  darkened  the  sun  and  the  air, 
(the  infinite  heresies,  and  gross,  light-obscuring  prejudices  of  Prot- 
estantism,) and  from  the  smoke  came  out  locusts  upon  the  earth, 
or  the  military  and  civil  powers  by  which  Protestantism  was  prop- 
agated, the  Church  plundered,  and  the  people  persecuted  to 
make  them  fall  from  the  faith.  These  hateful  and  violent  powers, 
however,  could  not  hurt  the  truly  faithful,  but  only  those  whom 
mortal  sin,  whether  sensual  vice  or  intellectual  pride,  or  covetous- 
ness,  rendered  deserving  of  it,  that  is,  the  men  who  had  not  the 
sign  of  God  in  their  foreheads,  who  readily  fell  away  and  perished. 
They  were  as  horses  prepared  to  battle,  to  show  the  rapidity  of 
their  conquests  ;  they  had  crowns  of  gold,  to  show  that  the  move- 
ment against  the  Church  was  conducted  by  princes,  like  the  sover- 
eigns of  Saxony,  Brandenburgh,  and  England  ;  their  "faces  were 
as  men,"  to  indicate  their  pretensions  to  human  learning  and  better 
reason,  criticism,  philosophy,  and  so  on,  (Humanitarianism  ;)  and 
*' hair  as  the  hair  of  women,"  to  indicate  the  efieminacy  of  their 


ALBAN . 


369 


doctrine,  in  rejecting  celibacy,  authorizing  polygamy,  dissolving 
the  bonds  of  sacred  marriage,  rejecting  the  ascetic  principle  in. 
Christianity,  and  denying  the  merit  as  well  as  the  possibility  of 
heroic  virtue,  (the  apsry)  of  the  N.  T.)    Their  teeth  were  as  lions, 
to  show  their  destructiveness,  evinced  in  the  ruin  of  those  splendid 
institutions  and  monuments  wherewith  centuries  of  piety  had  en- 
riched Europe.    They  had  "  breastplates  as  breastplates  of  iron," 
to  indicate  that  they  would  be  insensible  to  reason  or  pity,  as  in 
the  cruel  proscription  of  the  Catholic  religion  and  the  bloody  per- 
secution of  its  professors  and  ministers ;  and  "  the  noise  of  their 
wings  was  as  the  noise  of  chariots  and  many  horses  running  to 
battle,"  to  show  their  great  conspicuity  and  importance  and  appa- 
rent triumph,  their  skill  in  filling  literature  with  their  doings,  and 
their  semblance  of  being  the  great  movement  of  the  age  and  of 
time.    The  double  period  of  five  months  during  which  they  were 
to  torment  and  hurt,  is  supposed  to  intimate  a  duration  of  three 
hundred  years,  which  now  happily  is  come  to  an  end  ;  the  Church 
is  already,  we  may  say,  emancipated   everywhere  from  their 
power  ;  they  may  threaten,  but  can  no  longer  injure  ;  their  "  scor- 
pion sting"  is  lost.    However  all  this  may  be,  and  we  don't  under- 
take, like  Aunt  Fanny,  to  determine  positively  the  sense  of  so 
mysterious  a  prophecy,  the  application  is  extremely  pat  in  every 
particular,  even  to  the  succession  of  sovereigns,  (doubtless  of  vari- 
ous countries.)  by  whom  these  symbolic  locusts  were  to  be  led. 
"  They  had  a  king  over  them,"  that  is,  says  Mr.  Lord,  "  many 
kings  reigning  successively,"  the  angel  or  representative  of  their 
principles  ;  if,  indeed,  this  does  not  rather  refer  to  the  sect-leaders, 
to  whom  they  always  appeal,  and  whose  destroying  names  flourish 
in  regal  pomp  at  the  head  of  their  armies.  But  we  leave  so  subtle 
a  point  to  those  who  can  understand  a  proverb,  and  the  interpre- 
tation thereof. 

We  suppose  that  even  at  the  date  of  our  story  the  scorpion  sting 
in  the  tail  of  Protestantism  could  no  longer  hurt.    It  was  true  the 
teeth  as  lions"  were  shown  about  that  time  by  the  burning  down 
of  a  convent  in  Massachusetts,  and  of  a  church  or  two  in  Philadel- 


370 


ALB AN . 


phia,  by  an  anti-popish  mob,  but  as  neither  of  these  proceedings 
made  any  converls  to  Protestantism,  but  rather  the  reverse,  the 
sharpness  of  the  bite  was  wanting.  And  our  Alban,  in  a  Puritan 
college,  although  there  is  an  immense  dust  kicked  up  and  an  un- 
earthly clamor  made,  is  in  no  danger  of  life  or  limb.  He  will 
neither  be  hung  nor  burned,  nor  even  set  in  pillory,  nor  whipped 
at  the  cart-tail,  of  all  which  he  might  once  have  stood  in  danger, 
even  in  New  England  ;  still  less  will  he  be  embowelled,  as  priests 
used  to  be  in  Old  England  lor  saying  mass,  or  pressed  to  death,  as 
women  used  to  be  in  the  same  country  for  hearing  it.  Still  he  is 
a  culprit,  and  must  "  suffer  some." 

The  thing  was  whispered.  It  got  about  in  the  town  before  it 
did  in  the  college,  which  shows  that  some  who  were  in  the  secret 
had  female  friends.  Then  the  case  was  mentioned  in  a  social 
prayer-meeting  in  college,  that  the  unfortunate  young  man  in 
question  might  be  unitedly  prayed  for  I  A  hundred  young  men,  by 
the  way,  in  a  college  lecture-room  at  five  in  the  morning,  some  on 
their  legs,  some  kneeling  on  the  floor,  some  resting  their  heads  on 
the  back  of  the  bench  before  them,  so  as  to  conceal  their  faces  en- 
tirely, while  one  of  their  number,  standing  with  closed  eyes  and 
extended  arms,  or  clasped  hands,  is  pouring  forth  an  extempore 
prayer, — measured,  deliberate,  long,  rather  in  the  manner  of  rea- 
soning than  supplication — is  an  impressive  scene.  There  was  a 
faint  stirring  of  the  waters  for  a  revival  in  college  at  that  time,  as 
there  generally  is  in  the  spring  term,  and  prayer-meetings  were 
held  every  morning  before  chapel  in  the  Rhetorical  Chamber. 
Alban  was  prayed  for  without  mentioning  his  name,  but  the  ab- 
sence of  a  "  professor"  hitherto  so  shining,  and  always  conspicuous 
from  his  talents,  could  not  escape  notice.  It  was  easy  to  put  this 
and  that  together  ;  the  secret  was  soon  nominal ;  and  one  morn- 
ing, not  long  after  prayers  had  been  mysteriously  requested  in  his 
behalf,  a  coarse  but  fervent  youth — a  Western  man — ripped  out 
the  name  in  full  in  a  long  supplication,  in  which  the  speaker  took 
occasion  to  enter  into  all  the  circumstances,  for  the  benefit  of  such 
as  might  yet  be  ignorant. 


AL  B  AN . 


371 


Alban's  friends  fell  off  at  once.  Even  Henry  Atherton,  as  we 
have  intimated,  had  grown  cold.  His  class  no  longer  cheered  him  ; 
the  Brothers'  Society  hstened  to  him  in  unsympathizing  silence. 
The  new  President  was  applauded  in  turning  his  palmary  argu- 
ment in  a  debate,  into  ridicule,  and  the  Society  decided  for  the  first 
time  against  the  side  he  had  supported.  Society,  in  any  of  its 
spheres,  is  never  so  unjust  as  when  it  turns  against  a  former  idol. 
He  is  still  great  by  the  memory  of  her  favor,  and  therefore  she 
feels  no  pity.  O'Connor,  who  was  a  plucky  fellow,  and  would 
have  stood  by  Alban,  had  left  Yale  and  gone  to  St.  Joseph's 
Seminary.  The  gentlemanly  Charles  Carroll  was  cold  to  the  sup- 
posed convert. 

It  was  felt  by  Alban's  religious  friends  that  it  would  not  do  to 
trust  wholly  to  prayer.  Charitable  charity  students,  whom  Alban 
had  befriended  or  loved  in  the  days  of  his  fervent  experimental 
religion,  called  to  pay  the  debt  by  earnest  warnings.  Hardly  a  day 
passed  without  one  such  visit.  Some  came  repeatedly.  Old  ladies 
in  the  town  sent  for  him  to  touch  his  feelings  by  reminding  him  of 
his  grandfather  and  mother,  of  his  departed  aunts  and  living 
uncles,  and  missionary  cousins,  and  a  host  of  good  people  of  his 
all  but  sacred  name  and  blood,  who  dead,  would  be  ready  to  start 
up  in  their  graves,  or  living,  would  almost  break  their  hearts,  to 
hear  that  he  was  fallen  into  such  fearful  errors. 

Our  young  friend  answered  the  old  ladies  that  his  living  fnends 
might  err,  and  that  the  present  opinions  of  such  as  were  dead  might 
be  very  diflerent  from  what  they  supposed. 

His  pious  classmates,  his  friends  in  the  Theological  Seminary, 
and  the  Divinity  Professors,  opened  upon  him  a  terrible  battery  of 
arguments.  Alban  smiled  when  they  told  him  that  Popery  was 
pointed  out  in  the  New  Testament  as  the  Man  of  Sin,  by  the  clear 
marks  of  forbidding  to  marry  and  commanding  to  abstain  from 
meats.  It  was  as  clear  a  case  as  Aunt  Fanny's  notion  that  the 
"  Church  at  Philadelphia"  meant  the  Gluakers.  Did  that  Church 
forbid  to  marry,  he  smilingly  demanded,  which  declared  matri- 
mony to  be  a  Sacrament  ?  which  interrupted  its  august  sacrifice 


372 


ALBAN. 


for  one  purpose  alone — to  bless  the  new-married  pair,  and  invoke 
for  them  fruitfulness  in  the  bed  and  peace  at  the  board,  chaste 
constancy  in  love  and  length  of  mutual  days  ?  It  was  not  forbid- 
ding or  dishonoring  marriage,  he  argued,  to  say  that  celibacy  was 
more  excellent ;  for  St.  Paul  himself  expressly  said  it,  affirming 
that  it  was  "  beautiful  to  remain  a  virgin''  These  were  Chris- 
tian ideas,  he  assured  them,  not  Popish^ 

"  But  the  Papal  Church  forbids  po'iests  to  marry — a  clear  proof 
that  matrimony  is  considered  impure,"  said  one  obstinate  reasoner. 
It  was  a  theological  student  who  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  a 
daughter  of  one  of  the  Divinity  Professors.  He  was  ever  harping 
on  this  string.  He  came  every  day  to  see  Alban  about  it,  and 
Alban  at  first  declined  to  meet  the  objection.  At  length  our  hero's 
patience  and  modesty  were  alike  exhausted. 

"  Do  you  pretend  to  talk  to  me  in  this  way,"  he  cried,  with  a 
deep  flush  on  his  own  virginal  cheek,  "  when  I  have  the  Bible  in 
my  hands  I  Do  I  not  know  that  God  Himself  enjoined  a  sacred 
abstinence,  not  on  a  few  priests  only,  but  on  the  whole  nation  of 
the  Jews,  for  three  days  before  he  descended  on  Sinai  ?  Do  I  not 
know  that  God  laid  a  perpetual  obligation  of  this  sort  upon  all 
priests  during  the  time  of  their  service  ?  Did  God  Himself  in  this 
signify  that  union  to  be  impure  which  He  had  hallowed  in  Para- 
dise ?    Yes,  or  no  ?" 

"No." 

"  Then  neither  does  the  Church  insinuate  that  marriage  is 
other  than  a  holy  estate,  although  she  requires  a  better  choice  of 
those  who  are  to  serve  continually  at  her  altars,  daily  handling 
mysteries  of  which  those  of  the  Old  Law  were  but  the  shadows. 
It  is  painful  to  me  to  talk  of  these  things,"  added  Alban,  "  I  am 
shocked  at  your  notions  of  Christian  sanctity,  and  of  the  power  of 
grace." 

It  was  pretty  much  in  this  style  that  the  aggressive  Protestant- 
ism of  the  College  was  met  by  him.  One  candid  classmate  said 
that  Atherton  had  a  "  fatal  familiarity  with  the  Bible,"  and  that 
Scripture,  as  he  handled  it,  was  a  two-edged  sword. 


ALBAN . 


373 


Mr.  Soapstone,  too,  who  did  not  confide  so  much  in  the  Bible, 
interpreted,  as  he  said,  by  private  judgment,  but  who  was  strong 
in  Patristics,  could  not  suffer  his  interesting  young  friend  to  fall  a 
prey  to  Romanism  without  stretching  out  an  arm  to  save  him. 
When  Alban  however  heard  that  the  Church  of  Rome  had  com- 
mitted schism  in  separating  from  the  Church  of  England,  he 
laughed  outright. 

As  if  the  button  should  say  to  the  coat — '  Why  did  you  fall 
off  1'  " 

In  reply  to  this  irreverent  squib,  Mr.  Soapstone  developed  his 
great  idea  of  local  Catholicity. 

"  Our  Catholic  and  Apostolic  bishops,"  said  he,  "  having  re- 
ceived consecration  in  Scotland  and  England,  came  to  the  United 
States  and  set  up  their  jurisdiction  here,  several  years  before  the 
See  of  Baltimore  was  created  by  the  Pope,  and  the  Romish  Bishop 
Carroll  consecrated  for  it.  Consequently  the  erection  of  that  see, 
and  the  exercise  of  Episcopal  authority  by  the  said  Carroll  and  his 
successors,  were  acts  of  intrusion  into  our  jurisdiction,  and  schis- 
matical.  The  Romish  communion  in  the  United  States  is  there- 
fore in  a  state  of  schism,  consequently  it  is  no  part  of  the  Church 
of  Christ ;  and  the  encouragement  of  this  schismatical  commu- 
nion by  the  Church  in  France  and  Italy,  is  culpable  in  the  ex- 
treme." 

"  Your  Catholic  and  Apostolic  bishops,  as  you  term  them," 
replied  Alban,  rather  tartly,  "were  themselves  heretics  and  schis- 
matics when  they  came  here,  like  the  Church  of  England  from 
which  they  derived  both  their  doctrine  and  their  orders." 

"  Piove  it,"  retorted  Mr.  Soapstone,  triumphantly.  "  Prove 
that  the  Church  of  England  was  guilty  of  heresy  or  schism  at 
the  Reformation,  or  since.  For  if  you  cannot  prove  this,  then  she 
must  be  allowed  to  be  a  branch  of  the  Catholic  and  Apostolic 
Church,  and  the  consequence  as  to  the  exclusive  jurisdiction  of 
the  daughter  Church  established  in  these  United  States  follows  of 
course." 

"I  see  the  point  you  make,"  said  Alban,  thoughtfully. 

32 


374 


ALB AN. 


"  I  never  knew  it  fairly  met  by  a  Romanist,"  cried  Mr,  Soap- 
stone. 

"  One  does  not  like  to  enter  into  single  combat  with  a  woman," 
replied  Alban.  "  If  you,  whom  I  personally  respect,  had  not 
urged  this  argument,  I  could  scarcely  regard  it  as  meriting  a 
serious  refutation." 

"  Where  is  the  fallacy?"  asked  the  young  clergyman,  a  little 
trembling  before  the  logical  reputation  of  the  quondam  President 
of  the  Brothers. 

"  Grant  you  valid  orders  and  an  orthodox  faith,"  said  Alban.; 
"  then  you  say  you  came  to  these  countries  first  with  your  bishops. 
You  claim  on  the  score  of  priority.  But  what  you  claim  is  terri- 
torial jurisdiction." 

"  Certainly,  exclusive  territorial  jurisdiction." 

"  Good.  Now  jurisdiction  is  a  thing  that  cannot  exist  where 
it  is  not  claimed  publicly,  and  in  such  a  manner  that  all  whom  it 
may  concern  are  bound  to  take  notice  of  it.  It  must  be  claimed 
in  the  mode  which  custom  authorizes.  My  neighbor  has  no  right 
to  complain  of  my  trespassing  upon  his  field  if  he  neglects  to  in- 
close it,  or  to  mark  his  right  by  some  other  customary  sign  of 
property.  There  is  a  regular  way,  as  I  understand  it,  of  claiming 
the  Episcopal  jurisdiction  of  a  territory,  and  that  is  by  taking  a 
territorial  title.  When  a  man  calls  himself  '  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury and  Primate  of  all  England,'  we  know  what  he  means  to 
claim  for  himself — a  territorial  spiritual  jurisdiction  over  Canter- 
bury and  all  England,  for  such  is  the  customary  style  of  bishops 
with  such  jurisdiction.  Pray,  what  was  the  style  taken  by  your 
bishops  when  they  established  themselves  here  ?" 

"  Bishops  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  in  the  States  of 
New  York,  Pennsylvania,  &c.,"  returned  Mr.  Soapstone,  reluc- 
tantly. 

"  That  is  not  a  claim  of  territorial  jurisdiction,"  said  Alban, 
**  but  distinctly  the  reverse.  The  adoption  of  a  new  mode  of 
designating  themselves,  and  taking  a  sectarian  appellation,  was  a 
tacit  repudiation  of  territorial  claims,  and,  unless  I  am  mistaken, 


AL  B AN . 


375 


was  so  intended  by  your  first  bishops.  But  whether  intended  or 
not,  the  fact  remains.  In  abandoning  the  system  of  local  sees, 
you  abandoned  what  M'as  signified  by  it.  What  does  your  Church 
call  itself? — 'The  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  in  the  United 
States.'  Such  a  title  claims  nothing.  Can  you  lay  your  finger 
on  any  other  thing — any  act,  any  document,  any  notification,  of 
what  nature  soever,  emanating  from  your  Church,  in  which  she 
claims  exclusive  territorial  jurisdiction  ?  If  not,  how  can  a 
Catholic  bishop  be  guilty  of  schism,  by  coming  into  a  country 
where  such  a  Church  exists,  and  establishing  a  new  see  ?  What 
has  the  erection  of  the  See  of  Baltimore,  by  the  Pope,  to  do  with 
the  existence  of  the  *  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  in  Maryland  ?' 
The  Pope  could  not  dream  that  he  was  invading  jurisdiction 
where  none  was  asserted,  and  must  be  pardoned  for  overlooking 
what  you  yourselves  ignore." 

"  I  have  always  regretted  the  sectarian  title  assumed  by  our 
Church,"  said  Mr.  Soapstone,  rather  pale  and  worried,  "  as  well 
as  our  not  estabhshing  sees  like  other  churches,  but  I  never 
thought  of  its  vitiating  our  jurisdiction." 

"  It  does  more  than  that,  on  your  principles,"  replied  Alban, 
following  up  his  advantage.  "  For,  observe,  while  you  have 
neglected  to  occupy,  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  (I  take  your 
own  point  of  view)  has  extended  its  jurisdiction,  in  form,  over  the 
whole  of  the  United  States.  It  has  established  its  sees,  in  the 
old  recognized  manner,  so  as  to  cover  every  square  mile  of  the 
territory  of  the  Republic.  Consequently,  by  your  own  doctrine, 
she  is  in  possession,  and  unless  you  can  prove  that  she  requires 
sinful  terms  of  communion,  you  are  in  schism,  cut  off  from  the 
true  Church,  and  from  eternal  salvation.  You  can't  mistake  her 
claim — it  is  patent  to  all  the  world.  Her  style  is  unequivocal, 
royal,  and  supreme.  Those  who  reject  her  jurisdiction,  do  so, 
therefore,  at  their  own  peril." 

Mr.  Soapstone  sighed. 

"  If  I  may  be  candid,"  concluded  Alban,  "  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  think  of  these  High  Church  claims,  unsupported  as  they 


376 


ALB AN. 


are  by  facts,  repudiated  by  the  majority  of  your  own  members, 
and  ridiculed  by  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  Without  having  the 
antiquity  or  the  immense  numbers,  or  any  thing  to  be  likened  to 
the  curious  civilization  of  the  Chinese,  you  remind  me  of  their 
pig-tail  arrogance,  when  they  talk  about  the  '  Celestial  Empire,' 
and  term  all  other  nations,  though  far  more  civilized  than  them- 
selves, '  outside  barbarians.'  You  High  Church  Episcopalians, 
prating  about  '  The  Church,'  and  ridiculing  '  Dissenters,'  are  the 
Chinamen  of  the  West." 


ALBAN. 


377 


CHAPTER  III. 

At  the  first  blush  every  body  had  deserted  our  young  friend.  But 
by  degrees  his  old  admirers  gathered  round  him,  heard  his  reasons, 
and  at  least  in  part,  espoused  his  cause.  The  standard  of  religious 
liberty  was  raised.  Two  parties  were  formed  in  college; — the 
Protestants,  and  "  Atherton's  friends."  The  dispute  ran  so  high 
that  one-half  the  senior  class  would  not  speak  to  the  other.  Every 
man  felt  bound  to  take  a  side.  Atherton — the  quiet,  philosophical, 
regular  Atherton,  the  favorite  of  the  tutors — was  become  a  dis- 
turber of  the  peace  of  the  University. 

Alban's  enemies — for  the  rancor  of  religious  prejudice  made 
them  such — were  not  content  to  assail  his  principles  and  decry 
his  talents  ;  they  attacked  his  private  character.  They  had,  indeed, 
no  handle  for  this  except  some  incautious  admissions  of  his  own, 
dropped  in  pure  frankness  and  humility,  when  defending  the  doc- 
trine of  penitence.  'Twas  said  that  Atherton  had  been  guilty 
of  card-playing,  drinking  to  intoxication,  and  other  immoralities, 
in  New  York  ;  that,  in  consequence,  he  had  "  lost  his  religion," 
and  was  given  up  to  this  delusion — "  to  believe  a  lie."  Others 
said  that  he  did  not  really  believe  in  Popery  any  more  than  they 
did.  But  what  excited  a  greater,  because  vague  horror,  was  that, 
a  Catholic  priest  coming  into  town  for  a  few  days,  Atherton  was 
seen  in  his  company,  and  (it  was  even  rumored)  received  a  visit 
from  him  at  his  rooms.  The  popular  idea  of  a  Catholic  priest,  at 
that  time,  was  of  a  fiend  in  human  shape,  who  knew  too  much 
of  his  religion  to  believe  it,  but  exercised  a  fearful  tyranny  over 
the  minds  of  some  poor  ignorant  people  for  the  sake  of  gain  ;  who 
abused  the  confidence  of  the  confessional  to  corrupt  innocent  women, 
and  committed  the  greatest  crimes  every  day  without  compunc- 
tion. Regarding  young  Atherton  as  the  voluntary  associate  of 
such  a  monster,  even  grave  elderly  folks  turned  away  their  heads, 

32* 


378 


ALBAN. 


or  stared  in  wonder,  as  they  passed  him  in  the  streets,  and  shy 
maidens  hurried  by  him  with  downcast  eyes  and  pale  cheeks, 
instinctively  gathering  their  garments  closer  to  their  shrinking 
forms. 

Alban  would  not  have  minded  these  things  if  he  had  not 
feared  a  more  tangible  infliction  in  the  shape  of  a  college  censure. 
Perhaps  it  might  be  suspension,  or  the  loss  of  his  oration,  or  even 
of  his  degree.  He  heard  that  there  was  talk  of  sending  him  away, 
or  making  him  lose  a  year,  and  the  privilege  of  graduating  with 
his  class.  Besides  the  mortification,  this  would  have  been  a  serious 
injury  to  him  at  the  outset  of  life.  Indeed,  any  academical  censure 
at  that  period  of  his  course  must  be  a  wound  to  the  pride  and 
feelings  of  his  friends  and  family,  and  consequently  a  misfortune 
to  him.  Still  he  trusted  that  by  circumspection  in  his  conduct 
he  should  avoid  it.  He  was  more  regular  at  chapel  than  almost 
any  Senior,  nor  was  there  any  change  in  that  calm  attention  which 
he  had  always  given  to  the  chapter  at  prayers.  During  the  long 
extempore  prayer,  he  stood,  as  had  always  been  his  custom,  with 
folded  arms  and  eyes  downcast.  Some  asserted  that  his  lips 
were  always  moving,  as  if  he  were  praying  by  himself,  and  that 
he  carried  for  this  purpose  a  string  of  beads  under  his  cloak,  but 
this  was  a  mere  calumny.  Alban  had  adopted  few  of  the  devo- 
tional practices  so  much  esteemed  by  Catholics,  inasmuch  as  he 
knew  not  of  them.  His  prayers  were  mostly  mental.  In  chapel 
he  used  to  meditate  on  the  acts,  and  if  his  lips  ever  moved,  it 
was  unconsciously.  This  purely  spiritual  worship  grew  upon  him 
the  more  because  he  was  entirely  cut  off  from  the  service  of  the 
Church.  Father  Smith's  place  had  not  yet  been  supplied,  and 
the  priest  who  had  left  his  own  district  to  visit  the  flock  at  New 
Haven,  only  said  mass  on  a  few  week-days,  at  an  hour  when 
Atherton  could  not  attend  without  being  absent  from  chapel. 

Matters  were  in  this  state  when  a  grave  complication  oc- 
curred. One  day  the  post  brought  him  a  note,  in  a  feminine 
hand,  without  a  signature,  requesting  him,  in  somewhat  mysteri- 
ous terms,  to  meet  the  writer  on  the  road  to  East  Rock,  during 


ALB AN . 


379 


the  afternoon  study  hours.  It  concluded  with  the  expression,  that 
if  Mr.  Atherton  was  a  sincere  Catholic,  he  would  not  fail  to  come, 
as,  according  to  his  doctrine,  the  salvation  of  a  soul  was  at  stake. 
Alban  was  extremely  perplexed.  He  did  not  like  to  take  no 
notice  of  the  communication,  and  it  might  be  only  a  hoax,  or  any 
way,  might  get  him  into  a  scrape.  However,  on  the  very  after- 
noon appointed,  a  visit  from  the  Divinity  Professor  saved  him 
from  the  necessity  of  deciding. 

He  M'as  thinking  over  this  interview  in  the  evening,  and  won- 
dering how  so  mild  and  genial  a  man  as  the  Professor  could  be 
so  bitter  against  a  religion  of  whose  doctrines  he  was  entirely 
ignorant,  when  a  tap  at  his  door  aroused  him.  It  was  a 
little  black  girl  with  another  note  from  his  unknown  correspond- 
ent. She  reproached  him  for  not  meeting  her  at  the  time  ap- 
pointed. 

"  I  must,  if  possible,  see  you  this  evening,"  pursued  the  note, 
"and  shall  wait  on  the  Green  for  that  purpose  till  my  messenger 
returns.  If  you  fail  to  come,  (but  surely  you  will  not,)  I  shall  lose 
that  good  opinion  of  you  which  I  have  hitherto  preserved,  in  spite 
of  all  the  nonsense  that  people  talk," 

Henry  Atherton  had  gone  to  a  Wednesday  evening  lecture 
with  Mary  Ellsworth,  (for  it  was  Lent,)  and  Alban,  after  a  single 
question  to  the  sooty  little  messenger,  threw  on  his  cloak,  put  out 
the  study  lamp,  and  followed  her.  The  paschal  moon  (then  a  few 
days  old)  shed  a  pale  illumination  over  the  white  Doric  pile  af  the 
State  House,  and  it  was  thither  that  the  black  girl  directed  her 
way.  When  Atherton  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  lofty  steps,  he 
perceived  a  dark  female  figure  between  the  columns.  She  drew 
behind  a  column  as  he  ascended  towards  her,  but  when  he  stood 
by  her  in  the  portico,  addressed  him  in  a  firm,  pleasant  voice,  quite 
free  from  nervous  trepidation. 

"  Mr.  Atherton,  I  am  Miss  Hartshorn,"  said  the  lady. 

"  I  remember  you,  Miss  Hartshorn." 

"Mr.  Atherton,"  said  Miss  Hartshorn,"  I  won't  detain  you  by 
apologies  for  the  step  I  have  taken,  since  I  owe  none  to  you. 


380 


ALBAN. 


There  is  a  theological  student  boarding  at  our  house  whom  you 
know." 

"  Walker.  He  is  licensed  and  gone  somewhere  to  preach  as  a 
candidate, — is  he  not  ?" 

"  He  went  away,  and  came  back  sick  with  inflammation  of 
the  lungs.  He  has  been  lying  at  our  house  a  fortnight.  Pa  thinks 
he  will  not  live  through  it,  and  Mr.  Walker  himself  expects  to  die. 
He  wants  to  see  you,  Mr.  Atherton,  but  they  won't  let  him.  Mr. 
Walker  has  prevailed  on  me  to  tell  you  about  it.  I  suppose  it  is 
wrong,  but  I  am  not  a  Christian,  and  I  mean  to  take  my  chance 
of  getting  him  a  little  peace  of  mind  while  he  lives,  at  any  rate. 
He  has  been  out  of  his  head,  and  they  have  allowed  no  one  to  see 
him  but  Professor  ,  and  one  or  two  of  Mr.  Walker's  most  par- 
ticular friends," 

"  Is  he  out  of  his  head  still  ?" 

"  Pa  says  not." 

"  Dr.  Hartshorn  has  been  his  physician,  I  suppose." 

*'  Pa  and  Dr.  Reynolds  both.  Dr.  Reynolds  was  for  letting 
Mr.  Walker  see  you,  but  pa  and  the  ministers  would  not  consent  to 
it.  Mr.  Walker  says  he  must  die  a  Catholic,  and  wants  you  to 
get  a  priest  for  him,  and  all  sorts  of  things.  I  think  he  is  more  dis- 
tracted by  what  he  has  on  his  mind,  than  delirious  from  the  fever  ; 
and  always  has  been." 

"  Walker  used  to  call  on  me  frequently  to  dispute.  I  thought 
him  very  far  from  such  a  change." 

"  He  was  always  talking  against  you,  Mr.  Atherton — forever  ! 
You  see  it  was  because  he  was  disturbed  byw^hat  you  said.  They 
say  that  his  mind  is  weakened  by  disease,  (for  he  was  a  man  of 
strong  mind,  Mr.  Atherton,)  and  perhaps  it  is,  but  the  horror  he 
has  of  dying  is  awful.  I  promised  him  that  I  would  see  you  my- 
self, and  I  did  not  know  any  better  M^ay  than  this.  He  gritted  his 
teeth  like  a  madman  when  I  told  him  to-night  that  I  had  not 
succeeded  in  obtaining  an  interview  with  you.  *  In  twenty-four 
hours,'  said  he,  '  I  shall  be  one  of  the  damned.  Have  you  no  pity 
on  me,  Miss  Hartshorn?' — You  see  that  I  could  not  refuse  him, 


ALBAN. 


381 


but  how  you  will  manage  to  see  him,  Mr.  Atherton,  I  cannot 
tell." 

Walker  was  the  same  theological  student  whose  mind  had 
been  so  exercised  in  regard  to  the  celibacy  of  priests.  Alban  was 
surprised  that  he  had  not  even  heard  of  his  illness.  Miss  Harts- 
horn observed  that  "  they  had  kept  very  still  about  it."  She  did 
not  believe  that  Mr.  Atherton  would  be  suffered  to  have  an  inter- 
view with  the  dying  man,  and  as  for  a  priest,  her  father,  who  was 
a  deacon  in  the  Congregational  Church,  and  the  two  ministers  who 
daily  attended  at  Mr.  Walker  s  bedside,  would  as  soon  think  of 
admitting  "  the  old  gentleman  himself ;"  by  which  Miss  Harts- 
horn meant  to  signify  a  personage  whom  many  people  dislike  to 
name. 

"  Shall  you  see  Mr.  Walker  to-night  so  as  to  give  him  a  mes- 
sage ?"  asked  Alban,  after  a  little  thought. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  see  him  every  night.  His  room  is  next  to  mine. 
I  used  to  have  to  keep  it  locked  pretty  strictly  when  Mr.  Walker 
was  well,  poor  fellow  !  But  I  don't  mind  now,  except  on  account 
of  his  watchers.  They  are  theologues  too.  Very  well-behaved 
young  men.  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  them.  But  I  can  go 
in  when  I  like,  to  speak  to  Mr.  Walker,  and  offer  him  his  drink." 

"  Well,  tell  him  that  you  have  seen  me,  and  that  I  am  going 
to  send  for  a  priest.  I  shall  send  an  express  this  very  night.  Can 
you  let  me  know,  Miss  Hartshorn,  if  any  change  occurs  ?" 

"  Hetty  here,"  pointing  to  the  little  black  girl,  "  shall  bring 
you  word.  I  will  run  that  risk.  She  is  safe,  but  if  any  body 
should  see  her  going  to  your  room — why  she  lives  with  us,  you 
understand." 

"  Exactly.  Let  her  come  in  the  evening,  if  possible.  I  shall 
go  openly  to  your  father's  and  ask  to  see  Mr.  Walker.  Good-night, 
Miss  Hartshorn.    May  God  reward  you  for  this." 

"  I  might  have  been  afraid  if  it  had  been  any  one  else,"  said 
Miss  Hartshorn,  descending  the  white  steps  with  him,  "  but  Mr. 
Walker  told  me  that  I  might  rely  on  Mr.  Atherton's  treating  me 
with  as  much  respect  alone  as  before  a  hundred  witnesses.    I  hope 


382 


ALBAN. 


that  I  am  not  a  bad  girl,  and  that  you  won't  think  me  one,  Mr. 
Atherton,  although  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  Christian." 

Miss  Hartshorn  meant  that  she  had  never  experienced  a 
change  of  heart,  not  that  she  was  either  a  Mahometan  or  an 
infidel. 

"  I  would  trust  you  further.  Miss  Hartshorn,"  said  Alban, 
"  than  some  bright  professors  I  know." 


ALBAN. 


383 


CHAPTER  IV. 

If  the  affair  at  which  our  story  is  arrived  concerned  such  a  thing 
as  that  Mr.  De  Groot's  tenants  were  going  to  ruin  him  by  refusing 
his  rents  ;  if  the  hero's  hfe  were  in  danger  from  an  African  despot 
or  Spanish  brigand  ;  if  the  matter  were  the  abduction  of  a  lovely 
heiress,  or  the  fall  of  a  princely  house,  we  might  hope  to  interest 
our  readers.  Yet  a  greater  thing  was  at  stake  than  the  perpetua- 
tion of  the  Howards,  or  the  rights  of  the  Bourbons,  or  the  liberty 
of  the  French,  or  the  credit  of  the  Rothschilds,  or  the  nationahty 
of  Poland.  The  burning  of  the  Industrial  Exhibition,  or  the 
destruction  of  the  Vatican  Gallery  with  all  its  masterpieces — the 
Apollo,  the  Laocoon,  the  Stanze  of  Raphael,  the  ceiling  of  the 
Sistine  ;  or  the  oblivion  of  a  science — say  chemistry  or  astronomy ; 
or  any  other  like  or  worse  misfortune  that  the  civilized  world 
would  feel  as  a  universal  calamity,  or  all  together,  could  not 
make  an  unit  wherefrom,  by  infinite  multiples,  one  could  express 
that  catastrophe  which  now  hung  in  the  delicate  balance  of  Provi- 
dence, and  depended,  under  the  Supreme,  upon  the  clearness  of 
our  hero's  judgment,  and  on  the  energy  of  his  will. 

A  week  had  passed,  and  the  paschal  moon  was  past  the  full. 
The  white  State  House  on  the  green — modelled  from  the  Temple 
of  Theseus — shone  like  an  earthly  Luna,  reflecting  the  beams  of 
the  just  risen  satellite,  A  youth,  involved  in  a  cloak,  paced  to  and 
fro  under  the  portico.  By  and  by  a  little  girl  appeared  at  the  foot 
of  the  vast  white  steps,  and  began  to  ascend  them.  When  she 
got  to  the  top  she  gave  a  billet  to  the  young  man  in  the  cloak. 
"While  he  read  it  she  turned  her  face  to  the  moon,  and  the  face 
was  black  almost  as  the  hood  that  surrounded  it.  When  the 
young  man  had  read  the  billet,  he  also  looked  up  to  the  sky. 

"  Tell  your  mistress,"  he  said  at  last — 

"  Miss  'Liza  ?"  demanded  the  little  negress. 


384 


ALBAN. 


"  Miss  Eliza — that  I  will  come  at  eleven  to-night." 

The  child  of  Afric  sped  her  way  home.  Dr.  Hartshorn's 
house  stood  in  a  garden  ;  it  was  an  old  double  house,  with  mighty 
elms  before  it,  for  Dr.  Hartshorn  was  an  old  and  respected  inhabit- 
ant, an  established  physician,  although  as  his  family  consisted  of 
Mrs.  Hartshorn  and  their  daughter  Eliza,  he  was  willing  to  take 
a  theological  student  as  a  boarder  :  for  Dr.  Hartshorn  had  been  a 
deacon  of  the  Congregationalist  Church  for  thirty  years,  and  was 
a  veiy  shining  Christian,  which  your  deacon  sometimes  is  not. 
Little  Hetty,  (Dr.  Hartshorn  kept  one  female  "  help,"  a  stout  lad 
to  do  the  chores,  and  Hetty,) — little  Hetty  went  round  to  the 
kitchen  door  and  admitted  herself  silently  into  the  house.  Ike — 
the  lad  that  did  the  chores — was  carrying  in  an  armful  of  hickory 
from  the  well-piled  wood-house  to  replenish  the  "  sittin'-room"  fire, 
for  "  them  ministers"  were  there,  as  he  gruffly  informed  the  little 
negress.  Hannah — the  female  help — was  ironing,  and  made 
Hetty  shut  the  outside  door  after  Ike. 

The  house  was  planned  in  this  wise.  In  front,  on  one  side  of 
the  hall  was  the  best,  or  drawing-room,  and  on  the  other,  the  com- 
mon sitting-room,  where  the  family  took  their  meals.  Back  of 
the  sitting-room  was  "  the  bedroom  ;"  back  of  the  best  parlor  was 
the  kitchen,  which  extended  across  the  hall,  so  that  the  only  way 
out  on  that  side  of  the  house  was  through  it.  The  doctor's  office 
was  a  sort  of  offset  or  wing,  opening  into  the  bedroom  internally 
and  having  a  direct  exterior  door,  as  well  as  separate  front  gate, 
so  that  professional  calls  needed  not  to  disturb  the  house. 

Above  stairs  there  were  the  usual  five  bedrooms,  to  wit  :  two 
over  the  kitchen — one  of  which  was  small,  corresponding  to  the 
width  of  the  hall — and  one  over  each  of  the  other  rooms.  Thus, 
over  the  drawing-room,  was  the  best  or  spare  chamber.  Back  of 
it  was  the  chamber  of  the  female  servants,  Hannah  and  Hetty  ; 
for  although  Hannah  was  white,  she  condescended  to  share  her 
sleeping  apartment  with  such  a  "  httle  nigger"  as  Hetty.  But 
Hetty,  of  course,  had  a  separate  cot.  Hannah  would  as  soon  have 
shared  her  bed  with  Ike,  and  Hannah  was  a  girl  of  the  starchest 


"ALBAN. 


385 


virtue.  Opposite  the  best  chamber  was  the  door  of  the  sick-room ; 
and  Miss  Hartshorn's  apartment,  as  she  has  ah'eady  told  us,  was 
the  one  back  of  that ;  while  the  little  room  at  the  end  of  the 
chamber-entry — situate,  of  course,  between  Miss  Hartshorn's  and 
Plannah's — was  occupied  alternately  during-  the  night  by  the  sick 
man's  watchers,  who  thus  were  enabled  to  relieve  one  another — a 
matter  of  some  moment,  as  it  was  considered  desirable  not  to 
summon  a  greater  number  of  persons  to  Walker's  bedside  than 
absolute  necessity  required.  A  sort  of  low  piazza  (painted  red) 
ran  along  the  back  of  the  house  ;  and  at  the  corner,  where  the 
office  wing  projected  from  the  main  building,  it  was  easy  for  an 
active  man  to  climb,  by  the  aid  of  a  window-shutter  and  the 
lightning-rod,  which  there  descended,  and  so  to  get  upon  the 
"shed,"  or  roof  of  the  piazza  ;  whence  again,  it  was  easy,  by  the 
windows,  (at  least  if  one  had  a  friend  within,)  to  enter  either 
Hannah's  room  or  the  little  chamber  which  the  watchers  occu- 
pied ;  or,  finally,  Miss  Hartshorn's  apartment. 

The  ministers  were  assembled  in  Dr.  Hartshorn's  sitting-room, 
and  conversed  on  the  perplexing  affair  of  their  sick  brother.  There 
was  a  difference  of  opinion  between  them,  in  regard  to  the  course 
proper  to  be  pursued. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  a  dark,  diffident-looking,  but  meditative 
man,  who  spoke  in  a  rich  voice,  and  very  quietly,  "  I  am  disposed 
to  concede  to  Brother  Walker  in  the  matter  of  his  wish  to  see 
young  Atherton.  I  do  not  see  that  principle  is  involved  in  deny- 
ing such  a  request,  nor  do  I  apprehend  the  evil  consequences  from 
granting  it,  which  the  rest  of  the  brethren  seem  to  forebode." 

"  I  think  on  the  contrary,"  said  a  massive,  practical-looking 
man,  somewhat  advanced  in  life,  "that  there  is  jealousy  enough, 
and  bitter  theological  hatred  enough,  entertained  in  reference  to 
the.  New  Haven  Seminary,  without  letting  it  go  abroad  that  one 
of  our  licentiates  has  died  a  Papist,  and  that  we  have  made  our- 
selves, at  least,  accessories  after  the  fact.  It  will  be  laid  to  the 
door  of  the  New  Haven  divinity,  depend  upon  it,  Brother  F." 

"  I  think  the  admission  of  Atherton  is  inconsistent  with  our 

33 


386 


A  LB AN , 


position  and  his,"  said  a  very  calm,  still-voiced  personage,  who 
seemed  to  be  a  dignitary  of  no  slight  mark,  as  both  the  others 
directed  their  observations  rather  to  him.  "  The  only  middle  course 
that  occurs  to  me,  is  what  I  have  already  suggested — for  I  only 
suggest — namely,  that  we  request  one  of  the  Episcopal  clergymen 
in  New  Haven  to  visit  Mr.  Walker.  Their  Church  uses  a  form 
of  absolution,  and  it  is  possible  that  they  may  thereby  quiet  the 
conscience  of  this  unhappy  young  man." 

I  would  prefer  to  call  in  a  Horaan  Catholic  priest  at  once," 
said  a  young  clergyman  who  had  not  spoken  before.  "  If  there  is 
any  thing  in  a  human  absolution  that  can  benefit  the  soul  in  the 
presence  of  God" — he  spoke  in  a  hoarse  and  hollow  voice — "  let 
us  have  it  from  an  authentic  source.  None  of  this  double-shuffle 
in  religion — this  miserable  trumpery  of  the  form,  without  even 
the  profession  of  the  power,  which  real  Popery  claims.  Away 
with  it,  I  say  !" 

This  speaker  was  thin,  narrow-shouldered,  long-necked,  (which 
his  white  neckcloth  exaggerated)  and  sallow  in  complexion.  His 
forehead  was  high  and  broad,  and  his  dark,  saturnine  eye  was 
piercing.  Near  him  sat,  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  a  minister 
(evidently  such)  of. about  the  same  apparent  age,  (say  thirty-one 
or  two,)  but  a  strong  contrast  in  other  respects — light-haired,  blue- 
eyed,  softly  florid,  and  graceful  in  figure.  He  was  now  appealed 
to  by  the  mild  dignitary,  and  spoke  with  great  gentleness — almost 
too  great  for  a  man,  and  in  a  voice  almost  femininely  sweet. 

"  As  a  stranger  I  feel  diffident  in  expressing,  and  indeed  in 
forming  an  opinion.  Are  the  brethren  satisfied,  may  I  ask,  that 
this  dying  brother  is  now  in  the  possession  of  his  faculties  ?" 

"  Perfectly,"  said  his  dark-eyed  neighbor,  in  his  hollo  west , 
tone. 

"  It  is,  therefore,  a  case  of  wilful  departure  from  God,  and 
turning  to  a  refuge  of  lies — at  least  so  far  as  poor  human  eyes  can 
judge ;  for  it  may  be — we  should  trust  so— but  a  permitted  temp- 
tation of  Satan,  meant  to  cloud,  for  a  time,  our  brother's  evidence, 
but  from  which  he  may  yet  emerge  triumphant.    In  either  point 


ALBAN. 


387 


of  view  ought  we  not  to  wait  on  the  Lord  for  him  in  prayer,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  God  ?" 

This  advice  was  Hke  oil  on  the  waters.  The  colloquy  was 
turned  into  a  prayer-meeting.  One  after  another,  (all  kneeling,) 
at  the  request  of  the  most  forward,  poured  out  a  long  and  earnest 
supplication  in  behalf  of  the  dying  Walker.  The  deep  monotone 
of  their  voices,  changing  in  pitch  from  time  to  time,  rolled  on  for 
nearly  an  hour.  Eliza  Hartshorn.,  who  was  working  in  the  parlor 
opposite  and  keeping  her  mother  company,  thought  they  would 
never  get  through.  In  fact,  the  perplexity  of  the  ministers  was 
great  and  real.  Humanity  pled  strongly  with  some  of  them  in 
the  dying  man's  behalf,  but  theological  prejudice,  the  fear  of  stul- 
tifying themselves,  and  awe  of  the  opinion  of  their  world  restrained 
the  impulse. 

At  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Hartshorn  laid  aside  her  knitting,  read  her 
chapter,  and  prepared  to  retire.  She  recommended  to  her  daugh- 
ter to  follow  her  example,  but  Miss  Hartshorn  said  that  she  should 
certainly  sit  up  till  the  ministers  w^ere  gone.  Finally  Dr.  Harts- 
horn and  Dr.  Reynolds  came  in  together  from  the  office  of  the 
former,  visited  the  patient,  and,  after  a  short  consultation  on  the 
stairs,  joined  the  clerical  conclave. 

"  Well,  doctor  ?" 

"Mr.  Walker,  gentlemen,  draws  near  his  end." 

"  Will  he  last  out  the  night,  doctor  ?" 

"  He  maij  do  so." 

"  But  you  do  not  expect  it." 

"  It  is  our  opinion  that  Mr.  Walker  will  not  live  two  hours." 

"Is  he  aware  of  the  close  proximity  of  death  ?" 

"  We  have  thought  it  best  that  one  of  you  gentlemen  should 
communicate  it  to  him.  It  is  the  duty  of  the  priest  rather  than 
of  the  physician,"  said  Dr.  Reynolds. 

After  some  consultation  the  dark-eyed,  hollow-voiced   , 

and  the  mild  Professor  F  ,  who  had  been  Walker's  immediate 

pastor  before  the  latter  became  a  licentiate,  were  deputed-  to  this 
office.    The  took  leave,  pleading  the  hour  and  his  age.  Dr. 


388 


ALBAN. 


Reynolds  also  went  off  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  felt  himself  no 
longer  needed. 

Walker  was  not  greatly  changed,  except  in  color  and  expres- 
sion. A  sort  of  green  pallor  overspread  his  features  as  he  sat, 
supported  by  numerous  pillows,  in  a  position  almost  erect,  on  ac- 
count of  his  impeded  respiration.  Ouly  one  of  his  watchers  was 
in  the  room  ;  the  other  had  already  retired,  and  was  asleep  in  the 
little  bedroom  at  the  back  end  of  the  chamber  entry.  A  study- 
lamp  with  a  shade,  stood  on  Walker's  table,  and  the  watcher  sat 
by  it  in  a  rocking-chair.  On  the  table  were  books  and  vials, 
glasses  for  medicine,  and  a  decanter  of  wine.  It  had  been  neces- 
sary for  some  time  to  support  the  patient's  strength  by  stimulants. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Wiley?"  said  the  Professor,  addressing 
the  watcher  in  his  softest  voice. 

"  How  do  you  do,  brother  Wiley  ?"  said  the  other  minister  in 
a  deep  tone. 

Mr.  Wiley  placed  chairs  for  them  by  the  bedside.  Professor 
F  ,  took  Walker's  hand  kindly  and  felt  his  pulse.  It  was  im- 
perceptible, as  the  Professor  gently  intimated. 

"  What  does  that  imply  ?"  said  Walker.    "  Death  ?" 

"  We  cannot  hope  that  you  will  continue  long  with  us, 
Walker,  unless  God  should  choose  to  make  a  change." 

"  What  do  the  doctors  say?  How  long  have  I  to  live  ?  Tell 
me  the  truth,"  said  the  dying  man,  "  as  you  hope  for  God's 
mercy." 

"  We  have  no  desire  to  conceal  the  truth  from  you,  brother 
Walker,"  said  the  other  minister,  more  gently  than  he  was  wont. 
"  The  doctors  say  that  you  are  sinking.  They  fear  that  you  will 
not  live  many  hours." 

"  How  many  ?"  asked  Walker,  gasping  slightly. 

"Perhaps  not  two  hours  more,"  said  the  minister  firmly. 
"  You  are  quite  pulseless,  and  there  is  effusion  in  the  chest,  which 
increases.  These  are  fatal  symptoms,  brother  Walker.  We  tell 
you  in  kindness,  that  you  may  use  the  time  you  have  left  to  make 
your  peace  with  God,  if  so  be  that  you  have  not  made  it  already." 


ALB AN . 


389 


"  For  the  love  of  God,"  said  Walker,  beginning  to  breathe 
hard  and  quick,  "  send  for  Alban  Atherton.  I  must  see  a  priest 
before  I  die.  For  God's  sake,  Professor  F.,  send  for  a  priest  to 
absolve  me  before  I  die.  I  shall  go  to  hell.  Oh,  my  God  I  I 
would  go  to  purgatory  willingly  for  a  million  of  years — but  ever- 
lasting perdition  I    These  men  have  no  mercy.    God  forgive  you." 

He  seemed  strangling ;  but  Mr.  Wiley  calmly  brought  a 
draught  from  the  table  ;  the  patient  coughed  and  raised  a  quan- 
tity of  frothy  and  sanguineous  mucus  ;  then  drank,  and  became 
quiet,  though  his  eyes  glared  wildly  from  one  to  the  other  of  his 
persecutors. 

"  There  is  no  priest  to  be  had,  brother  Walker,"  continued 
the  same  minister  ;  for  Professor  F.,  pushing  back  his  chair,  seemed 
to  abandon  the  case  as  beyond  human  reach  :  "  and  besides,  the 
hope  you  place  in  that  source  is  but  a  refuge  of  lies — a  reliance 
on  which  is  the  true  cause  that  threatens  your  perdition.  Who 
can  forgive  sins  but  God  only  ?  Go  directly  to  him.  Not  that  it 
would  be  improper  to  unburden  your  mind  to  one  of  us,  if  you 
have  any  load  of  special  guilt  upon  it.  '  Confess  your  sins  one  to 
another,  and  pray  one  for  another,  that  ye  may  be  healed.'  Not 
a  word  there  about  a  priest." 

"  AYe  have  been  over  this  ground  so  often  with  brother  Wal- 
ker, that  I  think  it  is  useless  to  recur  to  it  now,"  interposed  Pro- 
fessor F. 

"  1  wished  once  more  to  direct  brother  Walker's  mind  away 
from  priests  and  human  absolutions,  to  the  Latnb  of  God  who 
taketh  away  the  sins  of  the  world,"  said  the  hollow-voiced  minis- 
ter solemnly. 

"How  am  I  to  apply  His  blood  to  my  soul  ?"  asked  Walker. 

"  By  faith,"  responded  the  minister,  "  appropriating  him  as 
your  Saviour,  and  renouncing  all  dependence  on  your  own  righ- 
teousness." 

"  Will  you  pray  ?"  said  Walker,  addressing  the  Professor,  "  and 
then  leave  me  ?    I  wish  to  be  alone." 

The  ministers  and  Mr.  Wiley  knelt,  and  Professor  F.  began  to 

33* 


390 


ALBAN. 


pray.  He  was  not  very  fluent,  but  commenced,  apparently  from 
habit,  by  addressing  Almighty  God  "  who  by  thy  apostle  hast 
said,  '  If  any  be  sick  among  you,  let  him  call  for  the  elders  of  the 
Church,  and  let  them  pray  over  him' — " 

"  '  Anointing  him  with  oil  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,' — why 
don't  you  go  on  M'ith  the  text  ?"  interrupted  Walker. 

This  disconcerted  Professor  F.,  who  soon  brought  the  prayer 
to  a  conclusion,  and  his  hollow-voiced  ministerial  brother  sighed 
deeply  as  they  rose  from  their  knees. 

People  moved  through  the  passages,  and  on  the  stairs.  Some 
were  females,  from  their  lighter  tread  and  rustling  garments.  By 
and  by  the  house  became  quiet.  Mr.  Wiley  was  to  call  the  fam- 
ily if  any  change,  occurred,  and  Hannah,  before  going  to  bed, 
stopped  at  the  door  to  let  him  know  that  there  was  hot  water  in 
case  it  were  needed.  Dr.  Hartshorn  came  in  again  before  retiring. 
As  he  quitted  the  sick-room  he  tried  the  door  communicating  with 
his  daughter's  to  ascertain  if  it  was  locked  on  the  other  side, 
which  it  was.  But  Miss  Hartshorn  was  still  in  the  parlor,  and 
her  father  looked  in  upon  her. 

"  Come,  Eliza,  it  is  time  you  were  in  bed.  It  is  already  con- 
siderably past  eleven." 

*'  I  cannot  bear  to  go  to  bed,  pa,  when  any  person  is  dying  in 
the  house." 

"  Nonsense,  child.  I  desire  that  you  will  go  up  stairs,  at  all 
events,  immediately.  I  shall  not  retire  as  long  as  any  one  is 
stirring  below.  Come." 

So  Miss  Hartshorn  took  her  candle  and  slowly  went  up  the 
stairs.  Her  father  tried  the  outer  doors,  and  withdrew  the  key 
from  the  lock.  He  did  not  go  into  his  chamber  till  his  daughter's 
figure  was  no  longer  visible  from  below,  and  even  then  he  left  the 
door  ajar,  so  that  no  one  could  descend  the  stairs  without  his 
knowing  it. 

Miss  Hartshorn  did  not  repair  directly  to  her  room  ;  she  went 
to  the  sick-room  and  tapped.  Mr.  Wiley  came  to  the  door.  She 
asked  a  question,  and  Mr.  Wiley  came  out — nay,  he  gently  closed 


ALBAN . 


391 


the  door  all  but  a  crevice — while  he  answered  her.  They  whis- 
pered awhile,  Miss  Hartshorn,  who  was  an  engaging  girl  of  five- 
and-twenty,  looking  very  modest,  but  much  interested. 

"  Don't  stand  there  in  the  entry  with  your  candle,  Eliza,"  said 
her  father's  voice  from  belov/. 

"  No,  sir,"  cried  Miss  Hartshorn,  and  with  a  saucy  air,  by 
signs,  invited  Mr.  Wiley  into  the  opposite  or  spare  chamber,  to 
finish  what  he  had  to  say.  Without  much  hesitation  the  young 
man  complied,  and  the  candle  no  longer  shining  in  the  entry,  her 
father  returned  to  his  room. 

Meanwhile  Alban  was  kneeling  by  Walker's  bedside. 

"  I  am  dying,  Atherton.  I  want  a  priest.  Confession — abso- 
lution I    I  am  a  great  sinner." 

"  I  expected  a  priest  to-night,  but  he  has  not  arrived.  To- 
morrow he  will  certainly  be  here." 

"  To-morrow  I  I  have  not  two  hours  to  live,"  said  Walker 
feebly,  and  struggling  for  breath.  Weak  as  he  was,  he  suppressed 
the  inclination  to  cough,  but  the  blood  flowed  from  his  hps.  "  'No 
-hope  for  me  I" 

"  Say  not  so,  my  dear  Walker  ;  God  does  not  require  impossibil- 
ities. An  act  of  perfect  contrition,  with  the  desire  of  the  sacra- 
ment which  you  have,  is  sufficient  to  blot  out  your  sins  in  a 
moment.  I  have  never  confessed.  I  am  preparing  to  do  so  when 
Father  0"K.yan  comes.  But  if  I  were  to  die  to-night,  I  trust  I 
should  be  saved.  The  doctrine  of  the  Church  is,  that  perfect 
contrition — which  is  genuine  sorrow  for  sin  from  the  love  of  God, 
whom  sin  offends — suffices  without  the  sacrament,  if  we  desire 
the  sacrament  and  purpose  to  receive  it  when  we  have  opportuni- 
ty, as  you  and  I  both  do." 

"  But  who  can  give  me  perfect  contrition  !  Alas,  my  sorrow 
for  sin  proceeds  almost  wholly  from  fear  of  hell.  I  think  of 
naught  else,  day  and  night,  but  those  eternal  flames.  I  have 
sinned  so  grievously.    Let  me  whisper  in  your  ear." 

Alban  turned  pale  as  he  listened  to  Walker's  whispers." 

"  There  is  no  hope  for  me  I  you  feel  it  ?" 


392 


ALBAN. 


"  You  have  sinned  grievously — " 

"  Oh,  that  is  only  one — the  greatest — " 

"  But  the  blood  of  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin.  It  matters 
not  how  guilty  we  are  ;  one  drop  of  that  precious  blood  is  sufficient 
to  make  us  whiter  than  snow." 

"  But  how  is  it  to  be  applied  to  my  soul  ?"  It  was  the  same 
question  which  he  had  put  to  the  ministers. 

"  The  sacraments  apply  the  blood  of  Christ  to  the  soul,  if 
they  are  received  with  suitable  dispositions,"  replied  Alban ;  "but 
there  is  no  minister  of  the  sacraments  here,  unless  of  baptism. 
Are  5'ou  sure  that  you  have  been  baptized  ?" 

Walker  had  been  baptized  in  infancy  by  his  father,  who  was  a 
Congregationalist  minister  of  the  old  school,  and  was  accustomed 
to  use  trine  affusion  wdth  great  particularity.  Walker  had  seen 
his  father  baptize  often. 

"  There  cannot  be  a  doubt  that  you  have  been  baptized,"  said 
Alban.  "  Perhaps  I  must  teach  you  a  little.  Life  is  the  direct 
gift  of  God,  Walker,  yet  it  comes  to  us  by  the  ministry  of  our 
parents,  by  the  sacrament,  if  one  may  say  so,  of  natural  genera- 
tion. It  is  God  who  sustains  us,  who  heals  us  ;  but  it  is  by  the 
natural  sacraments  of  food  and  medicine.  Nor  can  it  be  other- 
wise in  the  spiritual  world.  There  is  a  ministry  and  a  sacrament 
of  spiritual  birth,  healing,  sustenance.  God  seems  to  do  nothing 
without  a  form,  which  united  to  a  certain  appointed  matter,  con- 
veys to  us  his  manifold  benefits.  You  have  not  feared,  my  dear 
Walker,  to  profane  the  innocence  and  the  life  of  grace  which  God 
gave  you  in  baptism,  and  now  you  need  another  sacrament  of 
Divine  institution  to  heal  your  wounded  soul,  to  renew  within 
you  the  justice  which  you  have  lost.  Christ's  blood  has  purchased 
for  you  the  right  to  such  a  renewal — to  such  a  medicine.  Christ's 
word  has  provided  it  for  you  in  the  sacrament  of  penance  ;  but  a 
minister  to  whom  He  has  said  '  Whose  sins  you  shall  forgive  they 
are  forgiven,'  is  wanting  to  apply  it." 

"  Ah,  you  plunge  me  in  despair,"  said  Walker,  whose  eyes 
were  fixed  on  Alban' s  lips. 


ALBAN. 


393 


"  Man  doth  7iot  live  bij  bread  alone,  but  by  6very  ivord  that 
proceedetJi  out  of  the  mouth  of  God''  answered  Alban,  solemnly 
and  tenderly.  "  The  compassion  of  our  Creator  and  Redeemer  is 
infinite.  You  must  have  perfect  contrition,  certainly,  and  perfect 
contrition  is  very  difficult  to  elicit  ;  it  is  impossible  without  spe- 
cial grace,  as  the  Church  teaches.  I  know  of  but  one  certain  way 
to  obtain  it — to  interest  the  Saints  in  our  behalf,  God  will  grant 
to  their  prayers  what  He  justly  withholds  from  ours.  St.  James 
assures  us  of  it.  The  sacred  heart  of  Jesus,  and  that  of  His 
blessed  Mother,  are  the  refuge  of  sinners.  Fly  to  them,  dear 
\Yalker,  in  these  straits.  No  one,  however  stained  with  sin,  was 
ever  lost  who  had  recourse,  with  perfect  confidence,  to  Jesus  and 
Mary.  All  the  Saints  say  that.  For  in  every  exigency  God 
devises  means  to  bring  His  banished  back.  Weak,  alone,  cut  off 
from  the  ministrations  of  the  visible  Church,  your  faith.  Walker, 
places  you  in  the  fellowship  of  the  invisible  andtriumphant  Church. 
From  their  bright  thrones  they  watch  you,  expecting  that  cry 
which  claims  their  aid.  It  is  not  in  vain  for  us  that  they  reign 
with  Christ — believe  it  firmly." 

Walker's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He  was  prepared  to  believe 
all.  A  great  scene  opened  upon  him  with  the  clearness  of  death- 
bed vision — a  great  and  holy  society,  partly  visible,  partly  unseen, 
but  travailing  in  charity  for  him  ;  the  Lamb  of  God,  the  Fount 
of  all  that  love,  its  bond  the  Divine  Humanity.  If  he  had  been 
left  without  the  ordinary  means  which  God,  as'  Alban  cited  from 
Holy  Writ,  "  devises  to  bring  His  banished  back,"  it  was  only  that 
that  charity  might  reveal  itself  by  overflowing  its  appointed 
channels,  which  is  nothing  but  charity  when  it  restrains  itself 
within  them. 

Mr.  Wiley,  having  whispered  as  long  as  he  thought  decency 
permitted  with  Miss  Hartshorn,  in  the  spare  chamber,  returned 
into  the  passage  ;  but  behold  the  sick-room  door  was  shut.  Mr. 
Wiley  tried  the  handle  in  silence,  but  the  key  had  been  turned  on 
the  inside. 

"  Grood  gracious,  Miss  Hartshorn  !" 


394 


ALB  AN. 


"  Really  !  what  can  have  happened  ?" 

"  May  I  pass  through  your  room,  Miss  Hartshorn  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  through  my  room,  indeed  I" 

"  Your  door  is  locked,  too,  Miss  Hartshorn" — after  trying  it,  in 
spite  of  her  reclamations. — "  What  is  to  be  done,  indeed  I"  The 
cold  sweat  stood  on  Mr.  Wiley's  forehead.  "Can  he  have  got 
up  ?" — listening  at  the  door.  "  Some  one  is  talking  to  him,"  he 
said,  with  great  agitation. 

Miss  Hartshorn's  quick  ear  caught  her  father  stirring.  She 
blew  out  the  light  with  great  presence  of  mind,  and  whispered 
her  companion  to  be  still.  In  fine,  the  doctor  came  groping  up 
stairs.  Miss  Hartshorn  drew  Mr.  Wiley,  confounded  at  the  dilem- 
ma, into  the  spare  room  again.  The  bright  moon  shone  in  at  the 
window  of  the  entry,  but  the  closed  shutters  excluded  it  from  the 
spare  room.  The  doctor  came  to  the  door  of  the  sick  chamber 
and  listened  ;  he  heard  a  low  voice  as  in  prayer.  The  rigid 
countenance  of  the  Congregational  deacon,  supposing  that  he 
heard  Mr.  Wiley  himself,  smoothed  in  the  moonlight  into  an 
expression  of  contented  piety.  With  noiseless  steps  he  returned 
to  his  own  sanctum  below. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Mr.  Wiley  abused  the  opportu- 
nity of  the  situation  by  any  reckless  act  of  gallantry  towards  Miss 
Hartshorn.  It  is  true  that  she  kept  herself  as  far  as  possible  from 
him  ;  but  he  was  also  too  conscience-stricken,  and  too  full  of  ap- 
prehension in  regard  to  the  fault  which  he  had  already  committed 
in  deserting  his  charge.  With  slow,  agonizingly-muffled  steps  he 
again  approached  the  fatal  door. 

They  could  both  faintly  hear  the  Litany  of  the  departing. 

"  Lord  have  mercy ;  Christ  have  mercy ;  Lord  have  mercy. 
"  Holy  Mary,  pray  for  him. 

"  All  you  holy  Angels  and  Archangels,  pray  for  him. 

"  Holy  Abel,  pray  for  him. 

"  Whole  Choir  of  the  Just,  pray  for  him. 

"  Holy  Abraham,  pray  for  him. 

"  Holy  John  Baptist,  pray  for  him. 


ALBAN. 


395 


"  Holy  Joseph,  pray  for  him. 

"  All  ye  holy  Patriarchs  and  Prophets,  pray  for  him." 

Soon  the  strain  altered. 

"Be  merciful,  Spare  him,  0  Lord. 

"  Be  merciful,  Deliver  him,  0  Lord. 

"Be  merciful,  Receive  him,  0  Lord 

"  From  thy  anger, 

"  From  the  perils  of  death, 

"  From  an  evil  death, 

"  From  the  pains  of  hell, 

"  From  every  evil, 

"  From  the  power  of  the  devil. 

Deliver  him,  0  Lord. 

"  By  thy  nativit}^, 

"  By  thy  cross  and  passion, 

"By  thy  death  and  bmial, 

"By  thy  glorious  resurrection, 

"  By  thy  wonderful  ascension, 

"By  the  grace  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 

"  In  the  day  of  judgment. 

Deliver  him,  0  Lord. 
"  Sinners,  we  beseech  Thee  hear  us. 

"  That  Thou  mayest  spare  him,  we  beseech  Thee  hear  us. 
"  Lord  have  mercy  ;  Christ  have  mercy  ;  Lord  have  mercy." 

"  Is,  it  a  Catholic  priest  who  is  with  him  ?"  whispered  Air. 
Wiley,  in  a  tone  of  awe. 

"  I  don't  know.  Listen." 

But  all  was  a  low  confused  murmur  of  question  and  faint 
reply,  till  the  same  clear,  soft  voice  was  heard  reciting,  deliber- 
ately, the  Acts  of  Faith  and  Hope,  and  of  Divine  Love,  and  the 
Act  of  Contrition  ;  and  something  that  might  be  supposed  to  be 
an  Amen  followed  each.  Miss  Hartshorn  knelt  all  the  while  at 
the  door,  and  was  weeping.  Twice  again  the  low  accents  re- 
peated the  Act  of  Contrition,  which,  if  indeed  it  be  assented  to 
with  all  the  heart,  this  sinner's  salvation  is  secure. 

"  0  holy  and  compassionate  Virgin,  Mother  of  Mercy  and 


396 


ALB AN, 


Refuge  of  sinners,  suffer  not  this  soul  to  perish  for  lack  of  thy  all- 
powerful  intercession,  which  in  its  last  hour  turns  to  thee  the  eye 
of  hope.  By  the  sword  of  suffering  that  pierced  thy  heart 
heneath  the  cross,  be  his  advocate  with  thy  Almighty  Son,  his 
E.edeemer. 

"  0  Jesus,  who  hast  shed  every  drop  of  thy  blood  for  him,  melt 
his  heart  by  one  glance  of  thine  infinite  charity  ;  remember  him, 
Lord,  in  thy  kingdom  ;  say  to  him  as  Thou  didst  to  the  thief  who 
confessed  to  thee  on  the  cross,  '  This  day  thou  shalt  be  with  me  in 
Paradise.'  From  all  eternity  Thou  hast  foreseen  this  hour.  Be- 
hold he  is  the  child  of  time,  and  he  has  abused  thy  gifts,  but  his 
sole  hope,  0  Saviour  of  men,  is  in  thy  mercy.  Shed  abroad  in  his 
heart  a  ray  of  that  perfect  charity  which  effaces  in  a  moment  the 
multitude  of  sins,  for  this  gift  also  is  thine  ;  or  else,  0.  Lord,  all- 
powerful,  preserve  him  yet  a  little  while  for  the  sacrament  of  thy 
reconciliation,  which  he  so  fervently  desires." 

These  prayers  were  interrupted  by  Walker's  coughing.  The 
fit  w^as  severe,  and  was  succeeded  by  panting  moans  as  of  one 
struggling  for  breath.  Wiley  could  not  refrain  any  longer  from 
tapping  on  the  door,  and  Alban  came  presently  and  opened  it. 
W^iley  went  in  with  a  cowed  and  guilty  look.  Walker  was  now 
suffering  fearfully, 

"  Air  1  Air  I  Air  I"  he  articulated  ;  his  countenance  was  of  a 
darker  lividity,  and  his  lips  bubbled  with  bloody  foam,  which 
Wiley  wiped  away  with  a  handkerchief.  A  draught  which  the 
latter  offered  he  put  away  with  his  hand.  His  strength  was  so 
great  that  he  raised  himself  entirely  from  the  pillows  and  sat  un- 
supported save  by  Wiley's  arm. 

"Give  me — Air  I" 

Wiley  motioned  to  Miss  Hartshorn  who  stood  within  the 
threshold.  She  understood  him  and  ran  down  for  her  father.  In 
a  moment  Dr.  Hartshorn  came  up,  with  his  dressing-robe  thrown 
round  him.  After  a  glance  at  the  bed,  not  even  noticing  Alban, 
he  took  a  vial  from  the  table  and  administered  to  the  sick  man  a 
spoonful  of  liquid.    A  smell  of  ether  was  diffused  through  the 


ALBAN . 


397 


apartment.  Walker  ceased  to  cry  for  air  and  fell  back  slightly- 
panting  on  the  pillow.  His  eyes  sought  Atherton,  who  had  knelt 
again  by  the  bedside.  Having  never  seen  death,  Alban  was  not 
alarmed. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  God,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  in  all 
that  He  has  revealed  to  His  Church  ;  the  Trinity  of  Persons  in  the 
Unity  of  the  Godhead,  the  Incarnation  of  His  Son  Jesus  Christ 
of  the  Ever-virgin,  His  death  for  our  sins,  His  resurrection  for  our 
justification,  the  perpetuation  of  His  sacrifice  and  the  presence  of 
His  Body  and  Blood,  Soul  and  Divinity  in  the  adorable  Sacrament 
of  the  Altar,  the  Remission  of  Sins  by  the  power  of  the  Keys  which 
He  has  left  to  His  Church,  and  in  general  all  that  is  believed  and 
taught  as  of  faith  by  the  Holy,  Catholic,  Apostolic,  and  Roman 
Church,  out  of  which  there  is  no  possibility  of  salvation  ?" 

"  I  believe  all,"  said  Walker,  with  a  faint  eagerness. 

"  You  hope  in  the  infinite  goodness  of  God,  and  in  His  gra- 
cious promises  to  you,  though  a  sinner,  for  salvation  through  the 
blood  of  Christ,  that  is,  the  infinite  merits  of  his  sacred  pas- 
sion ?" 

"  It  is  all  my  hope." 

*'  It  grieves  you  to  the  heart  to  have  ever  offended  by  thought, 
word,  or  deed,  this  God  and  Saviour  ?" 
"  To  the  heart." 

"  You  desire  to  be  reconciled  to  the  Church  by  penance  and 
absolution,  were  it  possible  ?"  continued  Alban,  in  a  trembling 
voice, 

"  God  knows  that  I  desire  it — I  ask  not  to  live  one  moment 
%  longer  than  may  suffice  for  that." 

"  Yet  once  more,"  pursued  Alban,  hurriedly  ;  "  you  are  willing, 
however,  to  die  whenever  it  pleases  God,  and  you  accept  your 
death  in  the  spirit  of  penance,  humbly  offering  it  to  God  in  union 
with  the  death  of  His  beloved  Son  ?" 

Walker  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  but  answered  not  with  his 
lips.  He  seemed  so  collected  and  so  calm,  that  no  one  but  the 
physician  could  believe  that  the  end  was  so  near.    Dr.  Hartshorn 

34 


398 


ALB AN. 


had  stared  at  Alban  wildly  at  first,  and  then  fixed  his  gaze  upon 
the  sick.  Mrs.  Hartshorn  had  come  up  from  the  room  in  the  garb 
of  haste,  and  stood  with  her  daughter  at  the  bed's  foot.  Little 
Hetty  had  also  somehow  glided  in,  and  stood  with  her  black  arms 
crossed  on  her  breast,  in  her  coarse  chemise  and  petticoat. 

Alban  began  to  murmur  prayers,  to  invoke  the  sweet  names 
of  Jesus  and  Mary.  He  took  a  crucifix  from  his  bosom  and 
offered  it  to  Walker's  lips. 

"  Behold  Avith  faith  Him  whom  your  sins  have  pierced,  but 
who  has  washed  them  out  in  His  heart's  blood." 

The  dying  man  looked  at  the  image  of  Him  who  was  "  lifted 
up  like  the  serpent  in  the  wilderness,"  with  an  expression  of  un- 
utterable tenderness  and  compunction.  His  eyes  wandered  round 
as  if  he  saw  something  in  the  room.  He  made  an  attempt  to 
speak,  but  could  only  articulate  faintly  the  words  "  Jesus  !  Mary  I" 

There  was  a  slam  of  the  outer  gate,  followed  quickly  by  a 
firm,  loud  knock  at  the  street  door.  Little  Hetty  disappeared  at 
a  sign  from  her  mistress,  for  Dr.  Hartshorn  was  wholly  absorbed. 
The  eyes  of  Walker  were  glazed  ;  his  jaw  had  fallen  ;  he  lay 
motionless.  Mrs.  Hartshorn  was  about  to  draw  away  the  pillows 
from  under  the  corpse,  but  her  husband  prevented  her.  Little 
Hetty  came  running  in  again,  and  whispered  to  Miss  Eliza,  who 
in  turn  whispered  Atherton.  The  latter  started  up  and  went  out. 
He  returned  in  a  minute,  bringing  in  a  gray-haired  man  in  a  long 
overcoat,  and  wrapped  up  as  from  night  travel.  The  stranger 
approached  the  bedside,  (even  Dr.  Hartshorn  giving  way  before  his 
air  of  quiet  authority,)  and  uttered  without  delay  some  words  in 
a  voice  almost  inaudible,  making  a  rapid  sign  in  the  air  with  one 
hand.  •  The  dying  drew  one  soft  breath,  that  just  raised  the  linen 
over  the  breast.  All  waited  in  silence  for  another,  but  it  came 
not,  and  at  length  it  became  manifest  that  all  was  over. 


A  L  B  A  N  . 


399 


CHAPTER  V. 

WalkePc's  funeral,  agreeably  to  the  custom  of  the  countiy,  took 
place  on  the  second  day  after  his  decease.  His  father  and  only 
sister  had  arrived  but  the  day  before  ;  they  had  been  sent  for  at 
an  early  period  of  his  danger,  but  their  journey  was  from  far  and 
by  winter  roads.  They  were  plunged  in  the  deepest  grief,  for  he 
was  their  hope  and  stay,  and  the  trying  circumstances  of  his  last 
illness,  considered  in  a  religious  point  of  view,  could  not  be  kept 
from  their  knowledge.  The  father,  a  respectable  Congregational- 
ist  minister  in  Western  New  York,  was  profoundly  humiliated  by 
his  son's  death-bed  apostasy  :  the  daughter  (now  a  sole  surviving 
child)  seemed  stunned.  A  grave  and  stern  sympathy  pervaded 
New  Haven  ;  Alban  Atherton's  name  was  hardly  mentioned 
without  some  indignant  sentence  which  on  other  lips  would  have 
been  an  execration  ;  the  Episcopalians  alone  secretly  exulted  in 
the  blow  inflicted  on  the  pride  and  bigotry  of  the  "  standing  order." 

Early  in  the  morning  (it  was  Good  Friday,  but  the  college 
routine  was  not  interrupted  for  that)  a  young  student  visited  the 
house  where  the  dead  lay.  He  was  shown  by  little  Hetty  into 
the  best  parlor,  where  a  white-haired  but  hale-looking  man,  cleri- 
cally attired,  and  a  pale  girl  in  black,  already  were.  Mr.  Walker, 
senior,  was  placid  in  mien,  but  his  mouth  had  that  stern  compres- 
sion of  the  thin  lips  over  the  jaw,  which  is  so  common  in  New 
England.  He  spoke  not,  but  his  look  said  to  the  student,  "What 
do  you  want  with  me  ?" 

"  My  errand,"  said  the  young  man,  after  a  brief  but  earnest 
expression  of  sympathy  with  the  affliction  of  those  whom  he  ad- 
dressed, "  regards  the  performance  of  the  last  rites  of  religion  at 
our  friend's  burial." 

"  The  Reverend  Doctor  ,  is  to  conduct  them,"  said  the 

senior  Walker  quickly. 


400 


ALBAN . 


"  At  the  house,  pa,"  said  Miss  Walker.    "  The  Reverend  Mr. 
 is  to  officiate  at  the  grave." 

"  I  have  no  wish,"  said  the  young  man,  "  to  propose  any  thing 
that  can  conflict  with  these  arrangements,  which  have  been 
adopted  in  accordance  with  the  feehngs  of  survivors.  The  sole 
request  which  I  would  prefer  in  the  name  of  the  Catholic  priest 
now  here,  is  that  on  the  way  from  the  house  to  the  grave  the  re- 
mains of  your  son,  sir,  may  be  taken  to  the  Catholic  chapel.  The 
object,  I  need  scarcely  say,  is  to  pay  them  those  rites  of  respect 
vi^hichare  due  toone  who  died  in  our  holy  faith." 

Mr.  Walker  started  as  if  stung.    Miss  Walker  stared  at  the  - 
speaker,  as  if  she  for  the  first  time  understood  who  he  was,  and  was 
petrified  at  the  presumption  of  his  request — indeed,  at  the  audacity 
of  his  coming.    The  father  only  answered  quietly, 

"  My  son,  I  hope,  died  a  Christian.    I  want  no  mummeries  over 
his  body." 

There  was  something  so  definitive,  so  absolute  in  the  tone  in 
which  this  was  uttered,  that  the  youth  felt  it  would  be  vain  to  urge 
any  thing  further.  Yet  he  turned  to  the  daughter.  Women  are 
more  accessible,  more  open  to  conviction  than  men. 

"  Let  me  claim  your  intercession.  Miss  Walker,"  said  Alban. 

"  You  cannot  have  it,  sir,"  answered  Miss  Walker.  "  Why  do 
you  come  here  to  add  to  our  affliction  by  such  proposals?"  Her 
frame,  which  was  slight,  trembled  with  passion. 

Alban  rose. 

"  I  have  a  message  to  deliver  to  you.  Miss  Walker,  which 
your  brother,  a  little  before  he  died,  requested  me  to  impart  to  you 
alone." 

Miss  Walker's  pale  face  changed  to  crimson.  Her  father, 
gazing  sternly  out  of  the  window,  evidently  listened  not.  In  a 
minute  the  daughter  rose,  pale  again,  paler  than  before,  and 
beckoned  Alban  to  follow  her.  She  preceded  him  up  stairs  to  the 
room  which  had  been  her  brother's.  The  door  was  locked,  but 
the  key  was  outside,  and  she  turned  it.  The  room  was  cold,  but 
cheerful  with  the  sun.    The  bedstead  had  been  stripped  of  its 


ALB AN. 


401 


furniture  ;  the  books,  toilet,  and  table  were  arranged  with  the  for- 
mal precision  of  a  vacant  chamber  ;  but  supported  on  three  chairs 
was  the  open  coffin  with  its  stiff  and  white  tenant.  There  were 
no  flowers,  as  in  the  half-heathen  Germany  ;  no  candles  burning, 
as  in  Catholic  lands  ;  the  dead  lay  coldly,  but  not  unimpressively, 
alone. 

"  Here,"  said  Miss  Walker,  seeming  to  lean  on  her  brother's 
coffin  for  support,  "  we  shall  not  be  interrupted,  and  this  cold  pres- 
ence is  propriety." 

Miss  Walker's  features  were  not  beautiful ;  she  M^as  too  dark 
and  pale  ;  but  she  had  a  fine  brow  and  large,  dark,  piercing  eyes, 
full  of  melancholy.  Her  figure,  in  deep  mourning,  was  remarkable 
only  for  its  extreme  fragility.  Her  attitudes  and  movements  were 
somewhat  rigid  and  ungraceful.  She  bent  on  Alban  those  mourn- 
ful eyes  with  an  expression  of  fear,  expectation,  and  distressful 
curiosity,  mingled  with  something  of  womanly  embarrassment,  per- 
haps of  maiden  shame. 

"  Your  brother  fell  into  a  gi'icA^ous  sin,  not  unknoMTi  to  you," 
said  Alban,  "  and  he  crowned  the  sin,  as  you  also  know,  by  a  great 
injustice,  and  added  a  falsehood,  which  came  little  short  of  perjury, 
to  shield  himself  from  the  consequences  ;  finally,  when  driven  to 
desperation,  procured  the  commission  of  what  even  human  laws 
punish  as  a  crime,  and  which  certainly  is  a  great  one  in  the  sight 
of  God.  A  great  part  of  this  is  irreparable  ;  but  the  person  whom 
he  has  injured  is  known  to  you  ;  it  may  be  in  your  power  to  save 
her  from  further  degradation  and  eternal  ruin.  He  implores  you 
to  do  it,  even  if  his  reputation  should  be  thereby  endangered.  Do 
not  be  so  overwhelmed — Miss  Walker.  God  has  pardoned  your 
brother,  we  trust,  and  that  is  the  important  thing.  Perhaps  but 
for  this  fall  he  had  not  been  saved.  It  is  only  a  divine  restraint 
upon  us  that  prevents  any  of  us  from  rushing  into  wickedness." 

"  I  never  knew  his  sin  till  it  was  too  late  to  do  more  than 
conceal  it  as  best  I  could." 

"  If  concealment  had  not  been  unjust  to  another,"  said  Alban. 

"  She  deserved  her  fate,"  said  the  sister  of  Walker,  looking 

34* 


402 


ALB AN . 


up.  "  Not  that  I  excuse  my  brother ;  but  he  was  a  man.  A 
woman  Avho  forgets  what  is  due  to  her  sex,  Mr.  Atherton,  must 
and  ought  to  bear  the  penalty." 

"  Would  lie  say  so  now,  who  has  met,  face  to  face,  the  justice 
of  God  ?"  said  Alban,  glancing  down  at  those  features  locked  in 
the  tranquillity  which  knows  no  earthly  comparison. 

Miss  Walker  bowed  herself  over  the  calm,  white  face,  from 
which  Alban  had  lifted  the  light  fall  of  muslin  that  covered  it, 
and  burst  into  sobs.  Their  violence  racked  her  delicate  frame. 
Some  low  words  escaped  her  in  which  nothing  but  "  Brother," 
was  distinguishable. 

"  And  now  I  ma'y  say,"  continued  Alban,  "that  we  are  not 
anxious  to  claim  your  brother  as  a  convert  for  the  sake  of  any 
credit  that  would  hence  redound  to  our  religion.  He  fled  to  the 
Church  as  an  ark  of  safety  from  the  wrath  of  God.  The  Divine 
mercy  inspired  him  with  such  dispositions,  so  far  as  we  can  judge, 
that  the  priest,  whose  word  and  sign  in  the  last  unconscious  mo-, 
ment  of  existence  swept  away  the  airy  barrier  which  yet  separated 
him  from  the  visible  communion  of  God's  Elect,  entertains  no 
doubt  of  his  salvation,  and  is  ready  to  attest  the  fact  of  his  recep- 
tion into  the  Church  by  granting  his  mortal  remains  the  last 
honors  of  the  flesh  which  is  to  rise  in  Christ's  image.  For  the 
repose  of  his  soul,  masses  shall  be  ofiered.  W  hatever  measure  of 
just  retribution  his  spirit  suffers,  the  merits  of  the  Divine  sacrifice 
are  applicable  to  expiate  and  relieve.  Body  and  soul  he  belongs 
to  Christ — not  to  Satan.  That  is  what  we  wish  to  say,  Miss 
Walker, — what  we  dare  to  say — let  the  cruel,  harsh-judging,  un- 
forgiving world  talk  of  him  as  it  will." 

Now  the  sister's  tears  fell  fast,  but  in  silence.  Although  the 
quick  transitions  and  delicate  links  of  reasoning,  than  which  ada- 
mant were  more  easily  shivered,  baffled  a  female  attention  in  most 
that  Alban  would  say  on  such  subjects,  the  main  drift  was  intelli- 
gible to  a  woman  through  her  heart.  A  certain  apprehension  of 
punishment  is  inseparable  from  the  knowledge  of  guilt  in  ourselves 
or  those  near  to  us.    Hence  Alban  had  touched  the  right  string 


ALBAN. 


403 


when  he  pointed  out  to  Miss  Walker  that  the  Church  extended 
over  her  brother  in  death,  the  arm  of  courageous  love  and  the  segis 
of  the  name  of  Christ.  She  wsis  softened  enough  to  reason  with 
the  young  student  whom  at  first  she  had  regarded  but  with  indig- 
nation and  horror, 

"  I  cannot  imagine,"  said  she,  gently  replacing  the  muslin 
over  the  face  of  the  dead,  "  how  an  absolution  which  seems  to 
have  been  pronounced  when  my  brother  was  unconscious,  and 
actually  breathing  his  last,  should  affect  his  state.  You  attach  a 
value  to  forms,  jNIr.  Atherton,  which  appears  very  strange." 

"  Because  behind  the  veil  of  the  form  we  see  something  that 
you  do  not — Jesus  Christ  gliding  into  the  chamber  and  saying  to 
the^eparting,  '  Thy  sins  be  forgiven  thee.'  But  I  must  not  tarry 
longer."  The  young  man  bowed  for  a  moment  over  the  dead, 
and  turned  away.  "  It  is  not  good  for  you  to  remain  here  long," 
he  said,  allowing  her  to  pass  out  before  him.  When  they  reached 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  he  extended  his  hand  without  alluding  to 
the  business  which  had  occasioned  his  visit. 

".I  will  get  pa  to  consent  to  your  proposal  about — "  said  she, 
avoiding  the  conclusion  of  the  sentence.  "•And  in  regard  to  the 
other  matter — it  rests  between  us,  I  hope,  Mr.  AlHerton?  We 
may  never  meet  again,  sir,  but  you  may  be  assured  that  my  bro- 
ther's dying  request  is  something  that  I  shall  consider  sacred." 

The  funeral  was  in  the  afternoon.  A  crowd  of  students  and 
citizens  of  New  Haven,  with  many  ladies,  filled  every  room  within 
the  house.  Without  were  collected  a  great  number  of  Irish  servants 
and  laborers,  mingled  with  the  more  ordinary  class  of  town-people. 
At  one  time,  from  the  excited  feeling  between  the  Catholic  and 
Protestant  portions  of  the  crowd  outside,  an  excitement  fanned  by 
various  reports,  there  were  symptoms  of  a  battle,  but  the  arrival 
of  the  ministers  produced  a  calm  by  diverting  the  attention  of  the 
multitude. 

The  exercises  consisted  of  an  address  to  those  assembled,  and 
a  prayer.  Both  were  made  in  the  hall  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
and  were  listened  to,  in  breathless  silence,  by  the  men  who  filled 


404 


ALB AN. 


the  lower  portion  of  the  house  ;  with  tears  and  some  audible 
sobbing  by  the  females  in  the  chambers.  The  address  of  Profes- 
sor  was  cautious  and  painful.    He  spoke  of  the  lessons  to 

be  drawn  from  the  death  of  one  so  young — "  in  the  opening  bud 
of  manhood  and  usefulness,  and  so  recently  full  of  health  and 
strength."  He  applied  to  the  surviving  friends  the  ordinary  topics 
of  instruction  and  consolation  ;  but  he  said  very  little  of  the  de- 
parted, which,  considering  that  it  was  almost  a  clerical  brother, 
seemed  a  significant  omission,  and  struck  a  chill  into  the  breasts 

of  his  auditors.    The  Rev.  Mr.  's  prayer  was  more  fluent, 

and  his  hollow  tones  reverberated  with  an  awe-impressing  effect ; 
but  he,  also,  much  more  slightly  and  vaguely  alluded  to  the 
deceased  than  was  his  wont.  He  made  amends  by  praying  fer- 
vently that  all  present  might  be  preserved  from  false  dependences, 
from  every  refuge  of  lies,  from  all  the  cunning  devices  of  Satan, 
even  when  he  disguised  himself  as  an  angel  of  light,  (here  every 
eye  was  directed,  or  at  least,  every  thought,  to  the  form  of  Ather- 
ton,  who  stood  in  the  doorway  among  the  bearers,)  and  that  every 
stronghold  of  his,  whether  pagan  or  papistic,  might  speedily  be 
overturned  by  the  po^\'er  of  the  Word  of  God,  and  so  on,  which 
was  listened  to  eagerly,  and  found  in  every  listener  a  ready  inter- 
preter. 

The  procession  was  formed.  The  pall-bearers  took  their 
places.  There  was  only  one  carriage,  occupied  by  the  mourners  ; 
the  citizens  followed  on  foot ;  the  students  walked  on  before  the 
hearse.  It  proceeded  by  an  unusual  road,  which  many,  indeed,, 
did  not  understand,  until  a  pause  occurred  before  the  low  building 
with  a  cross  on  the  gable.  Those  whose  duty  it  was  to  bear  the 
coffin,  when  taken  from  the  hearse,  here  refused  to  act  ;  but  six 
Irish  laborers,  decently  clad  in  black,  came  forward  and  supplied 
their  places.  However,  curiosity  carried  most  of  those  present 
into  the  chapel,  and  it  became  filled.  Unfamiliar,  and  some  of 
them  apprehensive,  the  crowd  gazed  upon  the  black  hangings, 
which  had  not  been  removed  since  the  morning  service,  (it  was 
Good  Friday,)  and  the  candles  burning  by  day. 


ALBAN. 


405 


The  bod)^  of  Walker  passed  a  threshold,  which  living  it  had 
never  crossed  ;  and  psalms  were  recited  in  the  ear  of  the  dead, 
which  living  it  had  never  heard  ;  holy  water  was  sprinkled  on 
the  inanimate  flesh,  which  living  had  never  used  that  salutary 
aspersion  ;  lights  burned  and  incense  waved  around  that  body, 
which  living  had  never  rendered  like  honors  to  the  glorious  Body 
of  the  Lord.  Such  was  the  Church's  acknowledgment  of  peni- 
tence and  faith,  though  testified  at  the  final  hour.  Nor  did  she 
avoid  his  name,  which  once  before  she  had  uttered,  when  she 
bore  him  in  baptism.  She  breathed  it  now  in  prayer,  commend- 
ing his  spirit  to  the  mercy  of  Him  Who  created  it. 

"  Requiem  eternam  dona  ei,  Domine. 
"  Et  lux  perpetua  luceat  ei. 
"  Requiescat  in  pace. 

"  Amen." 


406 


ALBAN . 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  A  EOY  like  this  cannot  be  permitted  to  triumph  over  us  all." 
— "  The  spirit  of  insubordiaation  appears  already.  Nothing  else 
was  talked  of  in  commons  to-night,  and  those  who  were  opposed  to 
Atherton's  views  sympathized  with  his  victory  over  the  faculty." — 

"  The  weakest  thing  was  brother  's  speech  at  the  grave — 

why  should  he  speak  at  all?" — "  The  students  dispersed  smiling 
*  and  laughing.  But  I  wonder  that  more  decided  measures  were 
not  taken  to  prevent  that  significant  demonstration  at  the  Cath- 
olic chapel." — "  It  was  a  mistake  all  round.  Atherton,  who 
(between  us)  is  the  very  deuce  among  the  women,  persuaded 
Walker's  sister,  and  she  made  the  old  man  consent.  But  Master 
Alban  has  laid  himself  open  to  discipline  in  that  visit  to  Walker.  I 
suppose  you  knov/  that  he  entered  Dr.  Hartshorn's  house  near  upon 
midnight,  by  Miss  Hartshorn's  chamber  window." — "  Shocking  I 
scandalous  I  and  he  a  professor  !  Isn't  it  a  misdemeanor,  a  tres- 
pass, or  something  of  that  sort  ?  Dr.  Hartshorn  should  bring 
him  before  a  justice  of  the  peace." — "  His  daughter's  share  in  it 
prevents  his  doing  that.  But  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  an  in- 
vestigation before  the  faculty." — "  That  '11  be  rich.  Atherton 
will  be  expelled — don't  you  think  ?" — "  I  am  sorry  for  him," 
with  a  look  of  mysterious  knowledge,  *'  but  he  has  brought  this 
thing  upon  himself" 

Thus  a  pair  of  tutors  gossiped  as  they  returned  from  their 
evening  walk. 

These  subordinates  but  echoed  a  determination  of  the  superior 
members  of  the  college  government.  The  proceedings  of  the  fac- 
ulty of  Yale  College  are  always  marked  by  promptitude.  The 
morning  of  the  day  following  Walker's  funeral,  Alban  was  sum- 
moned before  them  ;  few  witnesses  were  required,  for  the  culprit 
admitted  most  of  the  facts  alleged  against  him. 


AL  BAN . 


407 


A  majority  of  the  younger  members  of  the  faculty,  aud  one 
or  two  of  the  older  professors  whose  natures  were  more  despotic 
and  their  religious  antipathies  more  violent,  w^ere  in  favor  of  ex- 
pulsion, or  at  least  dismission.  But  the  venerable  President,  the 
amiable  and  gifted  Professor  F.,  and  others,  opposed  so  extreme  a 
measure.  This  body  is  one  of  a  remarkable  sagacity,  which  has  ever 
tempered  its  instinctive  jealousy  as  a  government.  There  was 
danger,  as  the  acute  and  practical  S.  pointed  out,  in  carrying  Ath- 
erton's  punishment  beyond  what  was  necessary  to  save  themselves 
from  contempt ;  it  was  wiser  to  fall  short  of  the  severity  desired 
by  the  public  feeling  than  to  awaken  sympathy  for  the  sufferer  by 
the  semblance  of  vindictiveness.  These  temperate  counsels  pre- 
vailed, and  Alban  Atherton,  more  humiliated  by  his  trial  than 
aggrieved  by  a  sentence  which  virtually  acquitted  him  of  every 
thing  not  openly  acknowledged  by  himself,  was  rusticated  for  three 
months — being  the  entire  remainder  of  his  college  course. 

The  President's  room  was  directly  under  Atherton's — "  Awful 
handy  for  you  I"  said  St.  Clair,  who  tried  to  keep  up  his  cousin's 
courage  under  these  painful  circumstances  by  a  fire  of  constrained 
jests.  All  Saturday  afternoon  he  heard  the  voices  of  those  who 
were  sitting  there  and  deciding  upon  his  fate  ;  at  six  o'clock  he 
went  in  to  hear  his  sentence  from  the  lips  of  the  President,  as  well 
as  to  receive  the  "  admonition"  which  was  a  formal  part  of  the 
punishment. 

The  day  which  he  had  thus  spent  had  been  fixed  for  his  first 
confession,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  get  away,  he  hurried  to  the 
Catholic  chapel.  He  found  it  full  of  servant-girls  and  laborers 
waiting  their  turn,  and  crowding,  not  to  say  pushing,  each  other 
round  the  door  of  the  sacristy  in  order  to  secure  it.  It  might  be 
nearly  half-past  seven  when  Atherton  came  in,  and  he  remained 
more  than  three  hours  kneeling  at  one  of  the  back  benches,  trying 
to  recall  the  matter  he  had  previously  prepared,  and  to  excite  him- 
self to  contrition.  In  spite  of  his  efforts  at  recollection,  his  mind 
wandered  — now  to  the  sentence  which,  in  all  its  mild  wording  and 
severe  sense,  rung  in  his  ears,  now  to  the  mortifying  details  of  his 


408 


ALB AN . 


trial,  in  whicli  he  might  have  said  so  much  that  he  did  not  say,  (in 
reply  to  attacks,)  and  omitted  so  much  (that  was  indiscreet)  which 
he  had  said  ;  then  to  Walker's  death  and  funeral,  his  interview 
with  the  father  and  sister,  and  the  probable  effect  of  all  upon  his 
own  parents,  the  De  Groota,  and  all  his  near  or  distant  friends. 

At  about  eleven  o'clock  the  chapel  was  at  last  cleared,  and  he 
entered  the  sacristy  with  a  beating  heart.  The  old  priest  rose  from 
the  confessional  and  met  him. 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  must  not  think  of  coming  to  confession  to- 
night. If  I  had  had  a  suspicion  of  your  being  here  I  would  have 
come  out  of  the  sacristy  to  tell  you  so.  It  is  impossible,  my  dear 
young  friend,  that  after  what  you  have  passed  through  to-day  you 
can  be  sufficiently  recollected  to  make  a  first  confession.  God  will 
take  the  will  for  the  deed.  Return  to  your  room  and  sleep  upon 
it.  To-morrow  you  will  hear  mass  quietly,  and  in  the  afternoon, 
or  Monday  morning,  whichever  you  prefer,  I  will  see  you  here,  and 
we  can  take  it  leisurely." 

"  On  Monday  morning,  Father  O'Ryan,  I  must  quit  New  Haven. 
I  am  rusticated." 

''Have  they  gone  so  far? — Well,"  giving  Atherton's  hand  a 
warm  pressure — "  thank  God  I  thank  God  I  you  begin  to  suffer  a 
little  for  the  faith.  What  a  favor  to  you,  my  dear  friend  I  Now 
do7iH  trouble  yourself  about  this  confession.  Let  me  see.  You  go 
on  Monday  morning.  Perhaps  you  will  like  to  make  a  beginning 
to-night,  and  I  dare  say  you  can  finish  to-morrow." 

*'  I  think  I  will  not  attempt  to  do  any  thing  to-night,  if  I 
can  have  an  hour  to-morrow  all  in  a  lump,"  said  Atherton. 

"  Then  I  will  hurry  to  my  hotel  and  take  a  bite  before  twelve 
o'clock,"  said  the  priest,  "for  I  have  two  masses  to-morrow,  and 
to-day,  of  course,  I  have  had  but  one  meal.  As  that  was  ten  hours 
ago,  and  I  have  been  in  this  dreadful  confessional  ever  since,  I  feel 
rather  used  up." 

"  My  dear  Father  O'Ryan  I  and  you  talked  of  hearing  my  con- 
fession !" 

"  Why,  to  tell  the  truth,"  said  the  missionaiy  with  a  gruff 


ALBAN . 


409 


cheerfulness,  "  I  hardly  knew  how  I  should  stand  it  if  I  didn't  get 
something  to  eat  before  midnight.  Not  but  that  I've  done  it  in 
my  day,  but  this  has  been  a  hard  week.  In  vigiliis,  in  jejuniis 
often  comes  to  my  mind,  Mr.  Atherton.  We  stagger  under  a  trifle 
of  fasting  for  twenty-four  hours — what  would  we  think  of  the 
watchings  and  fastings  of  St.  Paul  ?" 

So  on  Sunday  Alban  came  in  the  afternoon  to  the  chapel,  but 
found  it  closed.  Not  a  soul  knew  why.  He  went  round  to  the 
hotel.  The  missionary  was  gone,  having  been  called  away  to  a  place 
thirty  miles  off  to  visit  a  person  at  the  point  of  death.  He  had  left 
a  pencilled  note  for  Atherton,  which  thus  concluded. 

"  Thank  God,  my  dear  friend,  for  this  fresh  disappointment,  it 
being  His  will  to  try  you  a  little  longer.  To  be  perfectly  resigned 
to  the  will  of  the  Almighty  is  better  than  to  receive  absolution 
with  ordinary  good  dispositions.  Be  humble  enough  to  say  from 
the  heart  Jiat  voluntas  tua,  and  grace  itself  can  do  no  m^ore  for 
you." 

With  faint  steps  the  young  convert  approached  his  boarding- 
house  at  the  hour  of  the  evening  meal.  He  was  fasting,  although 
it  was  the  Clueen  of  Festivals — the  first  Easter  he  had  ever  ob- 
served. 

Looking  forward  to  confession,  and  feeling  pretty  sure  that 
under  the  circumstances  Father  O'Ryan  would  give  him  absolu- 
tion at  once,  he  had  entertained  the  innocent  desire  of  making  his 
first  communion  on  that  sacred  day.  The  disappointment  of  both 
these  expectations  coming  upon  his  academical  disgrace, — con- 
spired, with  the  exhaustion  of  his  bodily  powers  and  the  moral  re- 
action after  the  somewhat  exalted  state  through  which  he  had 
passed,  to  produce  an  extreme  depression.  His  very  faith  ap- 
peared to  have  left  him.  The  sublime  Hope  on  which  his  soul 
had  fed,  identified  itself  with  the  illusions  of  the  imagination. 
Could  his  eyes  have  been  opened  he  would  have  perceived  a  dark 
and  formless  Being  walking  by  his  side,  triumphing  that  his  power 
was  not  yet  at  an  end,  and  that  one  more  temptation  was  permit- 
ted him  to  which  those  of  the  world  and  the  flesh  were  weak. 

85 


410 


ALBAN. 


Mrs.  Hart  met  him  in  the  hall  with  some  letters  which  had 
arrived  on  Saturday,  for  Alban  had  lately  taken  a  fancy  to  have 
his  letters  left  at  his  boarding-house.  By  such  a  batch  coming  to 
hand  at  once,  he  divined  a  crisis,  such  as  indeed  he  had  reason 
to  expect.  As  in  duty  bound  he  opened  one  from  his  father 
first. 

"  IS'EW  YoKK,  April  17,  1835. 

*'  Dear  Son, — Your  mother  and  myself  have  been  astonished 
at  the  communication  just  received  from  you.  What  you  propose 
is  an  act  of  perfect  lunacy.  I  can  with  difficulty  realize  that 
you  are  serious  in  it.  I  omit  all  reply  to  your  long  argument.  I 
am  astonished  that  the  college  faculty  should  not  have  informed 
me,  when  they  knew  that  you  were  diverting  your  mind  from  your 
studies  to  these  frivolous  questions,  which  the  whole  world  settled 
hundreds  of  years  before  you  were  born.  You  mentioned  to  me, 
before  leaving  home  last  vacation,  that  your  mind  was  occupied 
in  this  manner,  and  I  thought  I  then  signified  my  wish  with  suffi- 
cient clearness,  to  the  effi^ct  that  you  would  postpone  such  matters 
until  you  have  completed  your  college  course.  Indeed,  it  would 
be  far  better  never  to  take  into  consideration  any  subject  which 
has  no  practical  bearings. 

"  The  recent  rise  in  (which  has  very  much  surprised  the 

rich  'bears')  has  realized  the  expectations  which  I  had  confidently 
formed,  and  I  anticipate  a  still  further  improvement.  Thinking 
you  may  be  short,  I  inclose  you  a  check  for  fifty  dollars,  which 
please  acknowledge. 

"  The  proposed  change  of  rehgion  would  be  decidedly  injurious 
to  you  in  a  quarter  to  which  I  need  only  allude.  I  speak  from  per- 
sonal knowledge  when  I  say  that  the  opinion  entertained  of  your 
sound  judgment  and  liberal  views,  is  the  ground  of  the  approba- 
tion wdiich  has  been  given  by  her  parents  to  the  preferences  of  a 
certain  young  lady. 

"  Yr.  aff.  father, 

"  Sl.  Atherton." 


ALBAN. 


411 


The  next  letter  was  from  his  mother. 

"Grey  Street,  April  16,  ThAimday. 

"  My  Dear  Alban, — Your  letter  has  plunged  me  into  the 
deepest  grief.  Words,  my  beloved  son,  cannot  express  the  feelings 
with  which  I  have  again  and  again  perused  it.  Surely  it  is  a 
transient  bewilderment.  You  confess  that  you  were  for  a  time 
skeptical,  then  (singular  and  incomprehensible)  almost  a  Jew  I 
These  notions  will  also  pass  off  if  you  give  them  time. 

"  What  you  say  in  condemnation  of  the  religion  of  your 
sainted  grandfather,  your  aunt  Elizabeth,  your  cousin  Rachel, 
(who  is  going  on  a  mission,) — not  to  say  of  your  own  mother — is 
dreadful  I  But  you  have  not  looked  upon  it  in  that  light.  When 
you  do,  you  will  repent,  I  am  sure,  of  such  thoughts  as  you  seem 
to  have  had.  It  would  break  my  heart,  Alban,  if  I  thought  that 
you  could  really  be  given  up  to  this  awful  delusion. 

"  Your  father  (although  he  has  promised  me  to  write  3^ou  tem- 
perately) is  very  angry  about  your  letter.  He  says  that  if  you 
turn  Papist  or  Jew  (for  he  cannot  make  out  which  it  is  you  mean) 
he  will  never  see  you  again. 

"  Before  you  were  born  it  was  my  prayer,  day  and  night,  that 
(whatever  else  you  were)  you  might  be  one  of  Grod's  true  chil- 
dren ;  and  indeed  I  had  hoped  that  my  prayer  was  answered. 
Oh,  Alban,  I  would  rather  have  followed  you  to  your  grave  than, 
see  you  forsake  the  truth,  and  lose  your  soul  I 

"Put  away  the  books  which  have  perverted  your  mind,  my 
dearest  son  ;  give  up  your  proud  reliance  on  your  own  talents,  (ah, 
that  is  the  great  point,)  and  study  your  Bible  with  prayer  to  God 
for  guidance — He  will  not  fail  to  direct  you. 

"  I  have  no  heart  to  add  more  at  present.  If  you  will  not 
take  the  counsels  of  those  who  are  older  and  wiser  than  you,  I 
foresee  your  ruin  for  this  world  and  the  next,  and  for  your  parents 
nothing  but  shame  and  grief,  where  they  have  hitherto  felt  so 
proud  and  happy. 

*'  Your  affectionate  mother, 

"  Grace  Atherton. 


412 


ALB AN. 


"  P.  S.  I  have  just  heard,  from  a  rehable  source,  that  Miss  De 
G.,  who  has  no  doubt  influenced  you  more  than  you  are  aware,  is 
herself  not  too  well  satisfied  with  the  step  so  hastily  taken  in  op- 
position to  the  known  wishes  of  her  parents.  Oh,  Alban,  will 
you  not  be  warned  ?" 

These  letters  touched  our  hero  deeply.  Could  any  thing  be  so 
certain  as  the  evil  of  outraging-  these  kind  affections — the  prime 
religion  of  nature  and  basis  of  piety  ? — A  man's  foes  shall  be  they 
of  his  own  household.  He  that  loveth  father  or  mother  mxyre 
than  me  is  not  icorthy  of  me. — "  How  true  the  prophecy  !  How 
precise  the  warning  I"  thought  Alban,  as  he  broke  the  rich  seal 
of  a  third  letter. 

"  Fifth  Avenue,  Fer.  6  in  Parasceve. 

"  Dear  Atherton  :  Addressing  a  new-blown  votary  of  the 
Christianity  of  the  Middle  Ages,  I  can  do  no  less  than  adopt  an 
ecclesiastical  date.  Your  father  tells  me  you  are  going  to  make  a 
fool  of  yourself  as  Mary  has  done,  but  with  infinitely  less  excuse. 

"Speculate  as  you  will,  Atherton.  Protestantism  is  a  shallow 
thing,  no  doubt,  but  do  not  think  that  because  there  are  truths 
which  it  cannot  measure  or  fathom,  its  opposite  must  necessarily 
be  truth  without  alloy.  It  is  but  a  few  months  since  you  hesita- 
tated  between  Judaism  and  Episcopacy,  and  but  a  few  more  since 
you  were  a  fervent  Puritan.  Now  you  regard  these  past  states  as 
blindness.  "VYait  a  few  more  months  and  you  will  deem  the  same 
of  your  present  stage  of  development.  I  do  not  mean  (as  some 
vulgar  people  would)  that  you  have  gained  nothing,  but  that  you 
have  something  yet  to  gain.  You  are  young,  and  although  you 
have  a  wonderful  head  for  your  years,  no  genius  can  compensate 
altogether  for  the  want  of  that  grandest  and  most  fruitful  experi- 
ence whose  domain  is  the  inner  world  of  reflection, — which  time 
and  self-study  alone  can  give. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  appeal  to  any  feeling  or  interest  which  you 
would  regard  as  beneath  the  dignity  of  such  a  question.    At  the 


ALB AN. 


413 


same  time  I  think  it  right  to  tell  you  that  since  she  has  looked 
upon  you  as  a  convert,  Mary's  interest  in  you  has  sensibly  dimin- 
ished. Her  imagination  is  no  longer  excited  about  you,  and  that 
is  a  fatal  incident  to  the  love  of  a  devotee.  Mary  thinks  more  of 
the  cloister  than  of  wedlock  already,  and  if  you  were  actually  to 
join  the  Roman  Church  at  this  premature  stage  of  your  friend- 
ship, I  greatly  fear  that  she  might  never  arrive  at  that  passion- 
point  where  maiden  resolutions  melt  like  snow  before  the  fire. 

"  Win  and  wed  my  daughter  first — then  profess  her  faith. 
The  world  will  then  appreciate  your  change,  which  now  will  be 
assigned  to  an  interested  motive. 

"  Let  me  hear  that  you  have  chosen  the  wise  course  of  post- 
poning an  irrevocable  step,  at  least  until  you  can  take  it  with 
dignity. 

"  Truly  yours, 

"  E.  De  Groot. 

"  Alban  Atherton,  Esquire." 

"  How  sage  and  how  confident  he  seems  I"'  thought  Alban. 
"  And  Mary  !  It  would  be  strange  if  she  ceased  to  love  me,  be- 
cause I  had  become  actually  a  Catholic.  And  yet  it  would  not 
be  strange,  for  it  is  not  like  the  ways  of  the  Highest  to  bestow  a 
rich  earthly  reward  on  those  who  leave  all  for  His  sake.  I  see 
how  it  will  be.  Flower  of  chastity  I  My  bosom  is  not  pure 
enough  on  which  thou  shouldest  repose  I  He  whose  '  name  is  as 
oil  poured  forth,'  has  attracted  thy  virgin  steps." 

A  sudden  faintness  overcame  Atherton  ;  the  room  swam 
around  him  ;  he  looked  about  for  help,  but  Mrs.  Hart  was  gone  ; 
he  rose  and  staggered  to  the  sofa,  on  which  he  had  just  time  to 
throw  himself  ere  a  darkness  swept  the  room  from  his  sight. 

He  lay  motionless,  but  not  unconscious,  till  on  that  black 
depth,  as  in  a  mirror,  a  bright  scene  became  gradually  distinct. 

It  was  the  interior  of  a  beautiful  chapel,  the  morning  sun 
shining  in  at  the  high  east  window.  A  pure  yet  brilliant  altar  of 
white  marble  was  crowned  with  a  constellation  of  starry  lights. 

35* 


414 


ALBAN. 


A  meek  prelate  in  a  rich  robe  stood  before  it ;  the  sides  of  the 
chapel  were  lined  with  black-robed  nuns,  each  in  her  oaken  stall, 
the  snowy  wimple  covering  her  breast,  the  snowy  hand  across 
her  temples.  At  the  rail  knelt  two  young  females  in  pure  white, 
one  of  whom  was  habited  as  a  bride. 

Alban  could  hear  no  words  ;  but  the  brief  and  beautiful  cere- 
mony of  taking  the  white  veil  took  place  in  dumb  show  in  the 
small,  brilliant  chapel.  He  knew  what  it  was,  although  he  had 
never  seen  it.  When  the  novice  turned  from  the  altar  with  the 
plain  veil  of  religion  upon  her  head,  in  place  of  the  rich  bridal 
lace  Avhich  had  previously  shrouded  her,  Atherton  saw  her  features 
of  incomparable  loveliness: — they  were  those  of  Mary  De  Groot, 
and  the  bright  vision  gradually  dissolved  again  till  only  her  youth- 
ful form,  still  advancing  towards  him,  remained  visible.  It  ap- 
proached till  it  seemed  that  he  could  have  touched  her,  and  then 
vanished. 


ALBAN. 


415 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  place  to  which  Alban  was  rusticated,  was  a  retired  country 
village  in  the  interior  of  Connecticut.  Early  on  Monday  morning 
he  took  stage  for  Hartford,  the  semi-capital  of  the  little  State,  not 
content  with  one  metropolis.  From  New  Haven  to  Hartford  was 
a  day's  journey  in  those  times,  and  in  the  early  spring,  a  tedious 
one.  The  heavy  and  well-balanced  vehicle  went  swinging  and 
swaying  through  the  mud,  crawling  up  the  hills,  tearing  down 
the  declivities  with  a  rocking  and  sweeping  Avhirl  that  for  the  mo- 
ment stirred  the  blood  and  half  took  away  the  breath,  then  crept 
on  as  before. 

Atherton  was  too  busy  with  his  own  brooding  thoughts  to  heed 
much  his  fellow-travellers,  or  their  conversation,  which  was  slight 
and  desultory.  At  noon  they  stopped  for  dinner,  after  which 
several  new  passengers  were  taken  in ;  the  stage  received  its 
compliment  of  nine  inside,  and  two  with  the  driver.  The  new 
company  were  more  talkative.  The  recent  events  at  New  Ha- 
ven were  discussed,  and  Alban  heard  his  own  name  freely  men- 
tioned. 

"  This  young  gentleman  is  a  Yale  student,  I  believe,"  said 
one  of  the  old  passengers. 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  the  young  man  Atherton  ?"  asked 
a  new  passenger. 

"  I  have  some  acquaintance  with  him,"  said  Alban,  in  the  dry 
New  England  manner. 

"  Is  he  so  talented  as  they  say  he  is  ?"  inquired  the  new  pas- 
senger. "  I  heard  that  it  puzzled  the  Doctors  of  Divinity  to 
answer  his  objections." 

*'  There  is  generally  exaggeration  in  these  reports,"  replied 
Atherton. 

"  Is  it  true  that  he  let  himself  down  the  chimney  into  a  young 


416 


ALBAN. 


lady's  cham'ber  and  hid  himself  under  the  bed  till  she  had  re- 
tired ?■" 

"  No,  not  under  the  bed,  but  in  the  closet,"  said  a  morning 
passenger,  with  an  air  of  information. 

"  What  a  bad,  impudent  fellow  he  must  be  I"  said  a  lady  on 
the  back  seat. 

"  I  never  heard  those  circumstances  mentioned,"  said  Alban. 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you  they  are  quite  true,"  said  the  morning  pas- 
senger.   "  I  w'as  told  by  a  friend  of  Miss  Ilornheart  herself — 

was  not  that  the  name  ?  Miss  Hornheart  was  dreadfully  shocked, 
as  you  may  suppose,  ladies,"  (turning  to  the  fair  occupants  of  the 
back  seat.) 

"  How  old  is  Atherton  ?"  inquired  one  of  the  ladies,  addressing 
Alban. 

"  I  should  say  he  was  something  past  twenty,  ma'am." 

"  Young  scapegrace  I"  ejaculated  the  afternoon  passenger. 

"  He  has  been  dreadfully  dissipated  without  any  one's  ever 
suspecting  it,"  said  the  morning  passenger. 

"Sly  boots,"  interposed  the  afternoon  passenger,  with  a  wink 
at  the  eldest  of  the  ladies. 

"  And  worse  than  dissipated — a  very  dangerous,  young  man 
in  a  family." 

"  Oh,  really  !"  exclaimed  the  two  elder  ladies. 

"  Dear  me  I"  softly  breathed  the  youngest,  with  a  blush. 

"  I  think  you  rather  calumniate  Atherton,  sir,"  said  Alban, 
coloring.  "  I  belong  to  the  same  class  in  college,  and  I  certainly 
never  heard  any  thing  insinuated  against  his  moral  character." 

"  Oh  I"  cried  the  morning  passenger,  contemptuously,  "I  dare 
say  you  never  heard  any  thing  against  him,  young  gentleman. 
Nobody  had  heard,  till  this  came  out.  Sly  boots  I  as  you  were 
saying,  sir,"  (to  the  afternoon  passenger.) 

The  afternoon  passenger  w^as  a  tall,  large-framed,  and  well- 
fleshed  man,  in  a  suit  of  rusty  black,  wdth  a  narrow  white  cravat ; 
quite  evidently  the  minister  of  some  Episcopal  congregation  in  a 
rural  district.    He  sat  on  the  middle  seat  with  his  great,  heavy 


ALBAN . 


417 


arm  over  the  strap,  and  exchanged  many  little  courtesies  with  the 
ladies  behind  him. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  a  talk  with  this  Popish  classmate  of 
yours,"  said  he,  addressing  Alban.  "  He  and  I  would  agree  on 
many  points.  For  instance,  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  has  al- 
ways set  its  face  against  modern  science.  I  like  that,"  turning  to 
the  rest  of  the  company;  "modern  science  is  little  better  than 
dealing  with  the  devil,  after  all.  These  great  discoveries  I  gifts 
of  Satan  all.  Steam,  Chemistry,  Galvanism,  and  last  but  not 
least,  Animal  Magnetism  I" 

"  Do  you  rank  Animal  Magnetism  with  acknowledged  scien- 
tific facts?"  asked  Alban. 

"  There  is  a  girl  here  in  Hartford  at  the  present  time,"  replied 
the  clergyman,  with  a  keen  look  at  the  young  student,  "  a  girl  in 
the  clairvoyant  state,  who  can  see  through  blankets,  and  tell  you 
what  is  passing  hundreds  of  miles  off" 

"  'Tis  true  as  the  Gospel,"  said  a  gentleman  in  the  corner  of 
the  front  seat,  who  had  not  before  spoken.  "  She  sees  all  the  in- 
terior organs  in  any  one's  body,  (that  wishes  it,  of  course,)  and 
describes  all  their  conditions,  so  that  a  physician  by  her  aid  can 
prescribe  as  exactly  for  any  disease  as  if  he  could  take  you  to 
pieces  like  a  watch.    I  have  witnessed  this  myself." 

"  For  my  part  I  should  object  to  being  seen  through  in  that 
fashion,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  ladies. 

"  And  I  too,"  said  the  second  lady,  who  had  a  slight  cough, 
*'  though  I  should  like  to  know  if  I  have  tubercles." 

The  young  lady  only  blushed. 

"  The  first  time  that  the  Mesmerist  made  this  clairvoyant 
girl  see  the  inside  of  a  human  body — with  the  heart  beating,  the 
blood  rushing  through  the  great  arteries,  the  lymph  circulating, 
and  so  on — she  was  terribly  frightened,"  said  the  stranger  who 
had  last  spoken.  "  Now  she  is  used  to  it,  and  thinks  nothing  of 
examining  any  body  that  the  operator  requires." 

"  But  where  is  the  evidence  that  her  seeing  these  things  is 
not  all  pretence  ?"  asked  Alban,  skeptically. 


418 


ALBAN. 


"  Of  course  you  must  take  her  testimony  as  part  proof,"  said 
the  stranger,  "but  if  you  have  sufficient  evidence  of  her  preter- 
natural sight  in  many  incontestable  instances,  you  cannot  refuse 
to  beheve." 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  happened  to  myself,"  said  the  Episcopal 
clergyman. 

All  expressed  a  desire  to  hear  the  clergyman's  story. 

"  I  visited  this  clairvoyante  with  a  determination  to  test  the 
genuineness  of  her  pretensions.  She  was  not  in  the  mesmeric 
state  when  I  arrived  at  the  house,  but  the  operator,  a  medical 
man,  called  her  in,  and  she  consented,  not  without  some  difficulty, 
to  be  mesmerized  in  my  presence.  It  seemed  that  she  had  been 
under  this  physician's  care  for  a  nervous  disease,  for  which  he  had 
been  induced  to  try  mesmerism  as  a  remedy.  I  dare  say  you  are 
all  familiar,  gentlemen,  with  the  process  of  mesmerizing — the 
thumbing,  the  passes,  the  flourishes,  and  all  that.  In  about  fifteen 
minutes  the  effect  Avas  produced.  In  the  earlier  period  of  the  ex- 
periments on  this  girl  it  had  taken  sometimes  two  or  three  hours 
to  accomplish  a  like  result.  She  seemed  to  be  in  a  natural  sleep, 
paying  no  attention  to  any  thing  I  said,  although  she  readily  an- 
swered the  questions  of  the  mesmerizer.  Well,  not  to  be  tedious, 
after  showing  some  of  the  common  tricks  of  mesmerism,  he  placed 
the  girl,  at  my  request,  in  raiiport  with  myself."  Here  the  nar- 
rator pulled  out  his  watch.  "  You  observe,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
that  mine  is  what  is  called  a  hunter's  watch,  with  the  outside  case 
entirely  closed,  so  that  it  is  necessary  to  touch  a  spring  (thus)  and 
make  the  face-side  fly  open  in  order  to  tell  the  hour.  I  had  taken 
the  precaution  before  entering  the  house  to  set  the  hands  about 
six  hours  and  a  half  in  advance.  The  girl's  eyes  were  at  this  time 
closely  bandaged,  with  a  strong  silk  handkerchief  over  some  six  or 
seven  thicknesses  of  common  linen  roller.  I  stood  behind  her  and 
asked,  '  What  is  this  I  have  in  my  hand,  Eliza  ?'  '  It  is  a  watch,' 
she  replied.  '  And  what  time  is  it  by  my  watch  ?'  She  hesitated 
before  answering,  somewhat  impatiently,  I  thought,  '  How  can  I 
tell?' — '  Nay,'  said  I,  '  if  you  can  see  through  a  blanket,  and  all 


ALB AN . 


419 


those  bandages,  and  the  back  of  your  head,  you  can  surely  see 
through  a  plain  silver  case.  Is  it  harder  to  see  the  inside  of  a 
M^atch  than  the  inside  of  a  body  ?'  '  The  case  dazzles  my  eyes,' 
she  answered,  putting  her  hand  before  them.  All  this  while 
I  held  the  watch  directly  at  the  back  of  her  head,  and  in  such  a 
position  that  the  doctor — the  Mesmerizer — could  not  see  it.  I 
touched  the  spring.    '  Can  you  tell  me  now  what  time  it  is.' — 

*  Yes,'  she  answered,  removing  her  hand  from  her  bandaged  eyes, 

*  it  wants  a — quarter  to  ten.'  I  glanced  at  the  doctor,  whose  face 
wore  an  expression  of  slight  disappointment,  for  the  real  time  was 
about  a  quarter  past  three,  p.m.  ;  but  I  relieved  him  by  showing 
the  hands  of  my  watch,  which  indicated  just  sixteen  minutes  to 
ten.  The  minute  hand  was  a  mere  line  past  the  sixteen.  '  Does 
it  want  just  a  quarter  ?'  I  asked.  *  Well,'  she  replied,  pettishly, '  it 
luill,  in  less  than  a  minute.'  For  my  part,  ladies  and  gentlemen," 
concluded  the  clergyman,  "  I  was  thunderstruck." 

"  And  was  that  all  ?"  inquired  Alban. 

"  Oh,  by  no  means.  I  tried  her  with  a  short  sentence,  which 
I  had  previously  written  on  a  slip  of  paper  and  inclosed  in  a  brown 
paper  envelope.  She  read  it  with  facility,  altering  only  a  word." 
The  clergyman  paused.  "  I  tried  her  with  some  other  experi- 
ments in  which  she  failed  partially  or  entirely,  and  the  Mesmer- 
izer remarked  that  all  the  circumstances  on  which  the  perfection 
of  the  clairvoyant  state  depended  were  not  known,  and  it  was 
probable  that  these  mistakes,  which  perpetually  occurred  amid 
things  alike  wonderful  and  inexplicable,  were  due  to  some  violated 
condition,  or  decline,  or  oscillation  of  the  mesmeric  extasy,  as  he 
termed  it.  In  conclusion,  however,  after,  at  my  request,  he  had 
renewed  the  passes,  and  placed  me  once  more  in  the  most  intimate 
rapjoort  with  the  girl  that  he  was  able,  I  asked  her  some  questions 
relative  to  a  room  which  I  had  privately  prepared  in  my  own 
house,  before  setting  out  for  Hartford.  The  distance  is  about  fifty 
miles,  and  no  one,  I  am  certain,  was  in  the  secret  of  these  ar- 
rangements but  myself  Her  answers  I  cannot  divulge,"  said  the 
clergyman,  with  a  dark  shade  passing  suddenly  over  his  counte- 


420 


ALBAN . 


nance,  "  but  they  satisfied  me  of  the  existence  of  a  power  beyond 
my  comprehension,  and  previously,  beyond  my  behef.  Suffice  it, 
that  she  not  only  described  the  most  secret  arrang-ements  which  I 
alone  had  made  in  my  own  parsonage,  but  revealed  to  me  also 
circumstances  which  were  occurring  in  my  absence,  of  which  other- 
wise I  should  have  had  no  knowledge  whatever." 

"  In  time  we  shall  arrive  at  more  wonderful  things,"  observed 
the  stranger  in  the  corner  seat.  "  Or  rather,  all  miracles  will  be 
explained  by  some  very  simple  principle.  A  few  passes,  you  ob- 
serve, sir,  effected  that  extraordinary  phenomenon  which  you  "wit- 
nessed in  the  mesmerized  girl.  By  and  by  we  shall  learn  to  cure 
diseases  with  a  touch.  In  fact,  it  is  not  more  wonderful  than  that 
they  should  now  be  cured  by  some  simple  herbs." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  it,  young  gentleman  ?"  said  the 
clergyman,  addressing  Atherton. 

"  Why,  sir,  it  appears  on  your  own  showing,  that  you  have  had 
dealings  with  Satan,"  rephed  Alban,  gravely. 

"  Pshaw  I"  said  the  stranger  in  the  corner  seat,  "  there  is  no 
such  person  as  Satan." 

The  evening  lights  already  sparkled  in  the  windows  when  the 
stage  rattled  into  Hartford.  At  the  tea-table  of  the  hotel  the  con- 
versation was  renewed  upon  Mesmerism,  demoniacal  possessions, 
and  the  forbidden  arts.  The  stranger  believed  in  magic,  which  he 
maintained  was  only  the  consummation  of  science.  Matter,  in 
itself  nothing,  was  meant  to  be  subject  to  the  human  will  as  a 
slave  to  a  master.  He  thought  that  the  world  was  on  the  eve 
of  great  discoveries,  before  which  the  barriers  which  separated  us 
from  the  unseen  would  fall.  His  conversation  breathed  an  intense 
desire  to  penetrate  the  profoundest  secrets  of  nature  and  of  time, 
and  Alban,  as  he  listened,  could  with  difficulty  withstand  the  con- 
tagious influence  of  these  daring  aspirations. 


ALBAN. 


421 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

In  the  northeast  part  of  Connecticut,  among  the  hills  where  the 
Yantic  takes  its  rise,  extends  a  bleak,  almost  woodless  table-land, 
of  some  miles  in  length  by  about  one  and  a  half  in  breadth.  It 
is  not  destitute  of  farm-houses,  and  a  great  road  passes  through 
the  middle  of  it,  which,  for  one  reach  of  about  a  mile,  expands 
into  a  wide  common,  where  the  housen  (this  old  Saxon  plural  is 
still  used  in  New  England)  are  more  frequent,  and  form  the  strag- 
gling village  of  Carmel. 

At  either  extremity  of  this  common  rises  a  steepled  meeting- 
house ;  for  the  old  Congregationalists  have  split  in  Carmel,  and 
the  new  school  have  raised,  a  rival  house  of  worship,  at  the  dis- 
tance of  a  mile  from  their  neighbors.  On  the  road-side,  nearly 
equidistant  from  the  two  meeting-houses,  stands  an  old,  white, 
pillared  mansion,  with  fine  old  button-balls  planted  in  a  long 
line  before  it,  and  a  garden  in  the  rear ;  meadows  and  orchards 
on  either  side.  The  house  formerly  belonged  to  a  great  family  in 
the  State,  and  one  to  which  our  hero  was  nearly  allied  ;  but  it 
had  passed  out  of  the  name,  and  at  this  time  was  the  parsonage, 
or  rather  the  residence  of  the  old  school  minister.  This  gentle- 
man eked  out  his  pastoral  income  by  pupils,  and  was  willing  to 
receive,  now  and  then,  a  rusticated  student  from  his  alma  "tnater. 

The  stage-coach  drew  up,  by  a  gray  sunset,  before  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Cone's.  The  driver  took  off  Alban's  trunk,  and  set  it  down 
for  him  in  the  long  piazza.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Cone  himself  came 
out  to  greet  the  new-comer.  He  was  a  man  past  the  middle  age, 
of  a  grave  and  dignified  aspect. 

"  President  ,"  said  Alban,  offering  a  letter,  "  assured  me 

that  this  would  procure  me  the  pleasure  of  pursuing  my  studies 
for  a  few  months,  under  your  roof,  Dr.  Cone." 

*'  I  understand,"  said  Dr.  Cone,  balancing  the  letter  vacantly 

36 


422 


ALBAN. 


in  one  hand.  "  Walk  in,  Mr.  Atherton" — glancing  at  the  name 
written  in  the  corner.  "  You  have  come  to  a  queer  place,  but 
you  are  welcome,  sir." 

A  hall  of  small  dimensions,  with  a  square  balustraded  stair- 
case, opened  on  one  side  into  a  spacious  parlor,  sparely  but  hand- 
somely furnished.  The  chairs  were  high-backed,  solid,  and  heavy ; 
a  large  wood-fire  burned  on  the  ample  hearth.  The  room  con- 
tained a  piano,  at  which  a  little  girl  was  sitting.  She  turned  her 
head  as  the  door  opened,  and  Alban  saw  a  sparkling  brunette, 
with  the  wildest  black  eyes,  and  a  shower  of  jetty  ringlets  falling 
on  bare,  shght  shoulders. 

"  Ah  I"  said  Alban's  future  host,  and  withdrew  from  the  room 
which  he  had  half  entered.  "  Perhaps  you  had  better  walk  into 
my  study,"  said  he,  addressing  Alban,  and  with  the  word  went  to 
an  opposite  door. 

The  study  was  lined  with  rude  book-shelves,  but  well  laden. 
Here,  too,  was  a  wood-fire,  but  burning  in  an  old  Franklin.  A 
school-desk  ran  along  the  front  windows,  with  a  bench.  But 
there  was  no  one  in  the  study,  and  the  doctor,  pointing  Atherton 
to  a  seat  by  the  Franklin,  assumed  what  was  evidently  his  own 
study  chair. 

"  With  your  permission,  doctor,  I  will  lay  aside  my  cloak," 
said  Atherton,  for  the  room  was  very  warm. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  sir,"  said  the  doctor,  abstractedly. 

Atherton  threw  off  both  his  cloak  and  overcoat,  and  Dr.  Cone 
regarded  him  curiously,  glancing  from  him  to  the  letter  of  intro- 
duction, Avhich  was  still  unopened. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  mistaken — the  nature  of  the  affair,"  said  the 
doctor,  slowly  breaking  the  seal  of  the  letter,  and  looking  at  the 
young  man  with  surprise.     "  I  was  under  the  impression — " 

Here  Alban  was  startled  by  his  host's  apparently  chucking  the 
open,  but  unread  letter  of  the  President  into  the  fire.  It  was  in 
flames  in  an  instant.  The  doctor  made  a  sort  of  effort  to  recover 
it,  but  it  was  consumed  before  he  could  seize  it.  He  drew  from  the 
Franklin  only  a  bit  of  blackened  cinder,  that  quickly  fell  into  ashes. 


ALB AN. 


423 


"  Hem  !  disagreeable  these  things  are,"  said  Dr.  Cone,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Surely,  then,"  thought  Alban,  "  you  might  have  been  more 
careful." 

The  doctor  looked  so  embarrassed  at  the  destruction  of  the 
letter  that  our  hero  felt  the  position  of  culprit,  in  vv'hich  he  had 
entered  the  house,  entirely  reversed.  While  he  was  reflecting 
how  far  he  was  bound,  or  even  authorized,  to  supply  the  informa- 
tion which  the  burned  epistle  had  doubtless  contained,  the  door 
of  an  inner  apartment  opened,  and  a  plump,  well-looking  dame 
of  forty  entered  the  study.  She  stared  slightly  at  Alban,  and 
looked  at  the  doctor, 

"  This  is  Mr.  Atherton,  my  dear,  (Mrs.  Cone,  Mr.  Atherton,) 
from  Yale  College,  who  has  come  to  pursue  his  studies,  (did  you 
not  say  so,  sir  ?)  for  a  few  months,  at  Carmel." 

"  Mr.  Atherton  ?"  said  Mrs.  Cone,  courteously.  "  It  is  not 
the  son  of  Mr.  Samuel  Atherton,  of  New  York,  surely  !  Indeed  I 
What,  Alban  Atherton  I  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  sir.  Why  I 
have  known  your  mother  ever  since  I  can  remember.  Mr.  Ath- 
erton is  a  grandson  of  General  Atherton  of  Yanmouth,  my  dear. 
Little  Alban  I  Why  I  have  had  you  in  my  arms  a  thousand 
times  1" 

Mrs.  Cone  poured  out  a  flood  of  questions  relative  to  his 
parents.  She  had  heard  of  his  being  at  college,  and  distinguishing 
himself  greatly.  A  mother  could  hardly  have  greeted  him  with 
more  warmth. 

"  And  what  is  it  brings  you  to  Carmel,  Alban  ?  You  have 
not  been  rusticated,  I  take  for  granted,"  said  Mrs.  Cone,  laughing. 

"  Unfortunately,  I  have,"  replied  Alban,  with  a  slight  blush. 

"  Why,  what  have  you  been  doing  to  merit  such  a  sentence  ?" 
demanded  Mrs.  Cone,  with  some  surprise. 

"  The  President  wrote  a  letter  to  Dr.  Cone,  informing  him  of 
my  ofience,"  answered  Atherton,  with  embarrassment. 

"  Where  is  it,  husband  ?"  said  Mrs.  Cone,  imperiously. 

"  It  is  burned,"  replied  her  husband,  meekly. 


ALBAN. 


"  Burned  !"  exclaimed  the  lady. 

Her  husband  glanced  significantly  at  the  young  man. 

"  How  provoking,"  she  added  in  a  low  tone,  and  with  a  sud- 
den change  of  countenance.  "  I  am  really  wearied  at  these 
annoying  occurrences.  I  shall  quit  this  house  soon,  that  is  cer- 
tain I" 

In  uttering  these  ejaculatory  sentences,  which  considerably 
mystified  Alban,  the  lady  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  curiosity 
in  regard  to  the  cause  of  his  rustication.  She  abruptly  asked 
how  long  he  would  stay  with  them,  and  where  his  trunk  was ; 
then  saying  that  she  must  give  directions  to  get  a  room  ready 
for  him,  quitted  the  study,  with  a  disturbed  air. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  called  to  him  from  the  hall.  He  found 
a  couple  of  healthy-looking  Irish  lasses  carrying  his  trunk  up  stairs, 
at  her  bidding. 

"  I  fear  it  is  too  hesivj  for  them  to  carry,"  said  Alban,  observ- 
ing that  the  girls  panted  under  the  weight. 

"  Oh,  never  fear,"  said  one,  "  this" — pointing  significantly  at 
the  other — "is  a  strong  girl." 

"  There's  them  in  the  house  'od  take  it  up  a  dale  asier," 
replied  her  companion,  as  they  rested  on  the  landing,  "  if  they 
could  but  turn  a  hand  to  any  thing  useful." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Bridget,"  said  Mrs.  Cone. 

They  got  the  trunk  at  last  into  a  comfortable  chamber,  and 
Mrs.  Cone  dismissed  her  handmaidens.  When  they  were  gonje 
she  turned  to  Alban  with  an  air  of  authority. 

"  Now,  Alban — I  must  call  you  Alban,  for  you  seem  quite  like 
my  own  child — I  knew  your  aunt  Betsey  so  well,  and  your 
mother,  too,  at  Yanmouth,  when  I  was  a  girl — and  a  wild  thing 
as  ever  breathed — and  you  a  delicate  little  boy — how  you  have 
grown  I  I  am  very  proud  of  your  college  distinctions,  your  prizes, 
and  being  President  of  the  Brothers'  Society — they  say  that  you 
are  the  best  writer  of  your  class — but  what  is  the  cause  of  your 
having  been  rusticated  ?" 

According  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief,  Mrs. 


ALB AN . 


425 


Cone,  the  real  cause  why  I  have  been  sent  here  is  that  I  have 
become  a  Roman  CathoHc." 
"  A  what  ?" 

"  A  Roman  Cathohc,"  said  Alban,  smihng  at  Mrs.  Cone's 
blank  consternation. 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  box  your  ears,"  said  Mrs.  Cone. 
"  Why  what  do  you  mean  ?  Your  grandfather's  grandson  a 
Roman  Cathohc  I  Don't  talk  such  nonsense  to  me,  Alban  I 
What  have  you  been  doing  at  New  Haven  that  they  sent  you 
here  ?  Come,  I  love  you  for  your  aunt  Betsey's  sake,  and  your 
mother's,  too.    Tell  me  the  truth." 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Alban  could  make  Mrs.  Cone  com- 
prehend the  truth,  no  part  of  which  he  concealed  from  her.  In 
the  course  of  his  narration,  the  conviction,  however,  gradually 
dawned  upon  her  mind  that  the  young  man  was,  at  least,  not 
sporting  with  her  credulity.  She  was  ready  to  overwhelm  him 
with  arguments,  but  luckily  the  bell  rang  for  tea. 

"  Hurry  down  to  tea,"  said  Mrs.  Cone,  leaving  him,  "  and  let 
me  charge  you  not  to  breathe  a  syllable  of  this  to  my  husband, 
nor  to  any  one  else  in  the  house.  I  have  my  reasons,  which  per- 
haps will  appear  in  due  season." 


426 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  tea-table  was  set  (it  is  the  New  England  fashion  in  country 
districts)  in  an  ample  and  well-kept  kitchen.  On  the  side  of  the 
table  opposite  Alban  sat  three  hearty  boys,  from  twelve  to  fifteen 
years  of  age,  Dr.  Cone's  private  pupils;  next  to  himself  was  a  lady  to 
whom  he  was  introduced  by  Mrs.  Cone  as  her  sister.  Her  name 
was  Fay,  and  the  party  was  completed  by  the  black-eyed  little 
girl  of  whom  Alban  had  caught  a  glimpse  at  the  piano,  and  Avhom 
Mrs  Cone  named,  "  my  niece.  Miss  Rosamond  Fay."  Mrs.  Fay 
was  pale,  and  of  an  extremely  delicate  appearance  ;  she  coughed 
frequently  and  with  singular  violence  ;  but  when  Alban  turned 
to  offer  her  some  civility,  he  perceived  that  her  features  were  emi- 
nently beautiful.  Her  eyes  were  the  brightest  and  most  finely 
set  he  had  almost  ever  seen.  Her  voice,  too,  was  soft  and  plain- 
tive as  a  dove's. 

The  two  Irish  lasses,  one  of  them  blooming  and  luxuriantly 
made,  the  other  darker,  plainer,  and  a  trifle  stouter,  remained  in 
the  background  during  the  meal.  It  passed  nearly  in  silence. 
Dr.  Cone  indeed  attempted  to  put  a  courteous  question  or  two  to 
his  new-arrived  guest,  when  one  of  the  boys  opposite,  as  Alban 
thought,  commenced  kicking  violently  under  the  solid  mahogany 
table.  To  his  great  surprise,  neither  Dr.  Cone  nor  his  wife  took 
any  notice  of  this  indecorum,  although  the  latter  frequently  re- 
proved one  or  other  of  the  lads  for  some  trivial  impropriety. 

"  Sit  up,  William  I  Charles  I"  in  atone  of  grave  remonstrance, 
"  is  that  the  way  in  which  a  young  gentleman  should  help  him- 
self? Certainly,  use  a  spoon  for  your  honey." — Here  there  was 
another  kick  under  the  table,  so  violent  that  Alban  wondered  the 
tea-things  did  not  rattle,  and  Mrs.  Cone  became  silent,  while  the 
boys  grinned,  and  little  Rosamond  Fay  but  half  suppressed  a 
laugh. 


ALB AN. 


427 


Immediately  after  tea,  family  prayers  were  attended  in  the 
same  apartment.  Dr.  Cone  read  a  chapter  from  the  Epistle  to 
the  Romans,  accompanying  it  with  a  short  exposition.  Then 
Rosamond  Fay,  at  a  sign  from  her  mother,  went  into  the  next 
room,  where,  on  the  doctor's  giving  out  the  evening  hymn,  she 
played  a  well-known  tune  on  the  piano,  and  the  whole  family 
joined  in  singing  it  M'ith  a  very  sweet  effect.  Alban  took  notice 
that  the  prettier  of  the  two  Irish  girls,  whom  Mrs.  Cone  called 
Harriet,  sung  with  a  clear  voice,  but  her  less  attractive  companion, 
whose  name  was  Bridget,  did  not  sing,  and  sat  with  folded  arms 
and  downcast  eyes.  Harriet  had  rich,  pouting  lips,  ripe  and  invi- 
ting as  cherries  ;  Bridget's  mouth  was  of  a  different  character  quite  ; 
it  possessed  a  chaste  sweetness  not  unfamihar  to  Alban,  and  which 
diffused  a  charm  over  her  plain  physiognomy.  As  soon  as  the 
hymn  was  finished,  the  family  threw  themselves  on  their  knees, 
and  the  young  Rosamond  gliding  in  from  the  parlor,  knelt  by  her 
mother's  side.  Alban,  on  the  contrary,  unwilling  any  longer  to 
join,  even  in  appearance,  in  Protestant  worship,  took  the  opportu- 
nity of  the  noise  this  general  change  of  position  occasioned,  to 
escape  into  the  room  which  the  young  girl  had  quitted.  Seating 
himself  by  the  parlor  fire,  he  could  listen  to  Dr.  Cone's  prayer. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  it,  while  the  good  minister  was 
praying,  as  our  hero  thought,  with  unusual  earnestness  for  pro- 
tection during  the  night,  particularly  from  the  malice  of  demons 
and  the  assaults  of  evil  spirits,  there  was  a  scream  in  the  kitchen, 
followed  by  a  crash  of  porcelain  and  a  heavy  fall.  Alban  sprang 
to  the  open  door  ;  the  tea-things  were  half  off  the  table  ;  some 
broken  cups  and  plates  strewed  the  floor,  and  Mrs.  Cone  was  en- 
deavoring to  save  others  which  were  just  on  the  point  of  faUing. 
Dr.  Cone  concluded  his  prayer  rather  abruptly,  and  the  family 
sprang  to  their  feet  with  a  variety  of  exclamations. 

"  I  told  you  that  you  had  come  to  a  strange  house,  Mr.  Ather- 
ton,"  said  Dr.  Cone,  passing  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  and 
drawing  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Oh,  look  what  they  have  done  in  the  parlor  I"  cried  little 


428 


ALB AN. 


Rosamond  Fay,  and  Alban,  turning,  beheld,  to  his  astonishment, 
all  the  heavy  chairs  in  the  room  behind  him  piled  one  on  another, 
nearly  to  the  ceiling,  the  stool  of  the  piano  being  perched  on  top 
of  all. 

"  Who  are  they  V  Alban  innocently  demanded  of  the  child. 
"The  Spirits  1" 

"  My  daughter  !"  said  Mrs.  Fay,  reprovingly. 

For  the  little  witch  clapped  her  hands  with  glee. 

It  seemed,  indeed,  that  the  devil  was  really  in  the  house.  The 
tea-table  was  again  lifted  up  at  one  end,  sending  some  half-dozen 
more  cups  and  plates  upon  the  floor  with  a  crash  ;  the  pretty  Har- 
riet, while  picking  them  up,  screamed,  and  cried  out  that  some 
one  pinched  her  ;  Bridget  fell  on  her  knees  and  began  to  call  upon 
the  Virgin  and  Saints  for  help,  and  in  the  midst  of  all,  a  noise 
like  some  heavy  body  rolling  down  stairs  was  heard  in  the  front 
entry  or  hall,  the  door  leading  from  which  into  the  parlor  was 
suddenly  burst  open  with  violence,  and  Alban's  trunk  hurled  into 
the  room  as  if  from  a  battering-ram.  The  hasp  of  the  lock 
snapped  with  the  violence  of  the  concussion,  the  lid  flew  open,  and 
with  another  turn  the  entire  contents  of  the  trunk,  consisting  of 
books  and  clothes,  were  scattered  over  the  carpet. 

Alban  flew  out  of  the  room,  and  up  the  stairs,  but  in  a  few 
minutes  returned  with  an  aspect  of  blank  astonishment.  He 
had  found  the  outer  door  of  the  hall  bolted  on  the  inside,  and 
every  thing  in  the  story  above  quiet  and  orderly  as  a  sepul- 
chre. 

The  loud  and  deafening  raps  now  recommenced  below,  and 
from  several  quarters  at  once,  on  the  table,  on  the  floor,  the  walls, 
the  doors.    Some  were  feebler  than  others,  and  they  were  repeated 
at  longer  or  shorter  intervals,  and  the  family  listened  in  silence ; 
Dr.  Cone  and  the  females  were  pale,  and  even  the  children  began 
to  look  frightened.    The  youngest  boy  sobbed,  and  having  seize 
Alban's  hand,  held  it  with  a  convulsive  force.    Little  Rosamon 
alone,  although  excited  to  the  last  degree,  and  clinging  to  he 
mother  for  protection,  showed  more  curiosity  than  fear.  And 


ALB AN . 


429 


at  once  she  approached  Alban  and  the  little  hoy  who  still  grasped 
his  hand,  and  whom  our  hero  had  taken  upon  his  knee. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  your  clothes,  Eddy  ?"  she  said.  She 
touched  the  little  fellow,  but  instantly  drew  back  screaming,  and 
ran  away,  covering  her  eyes  with  both  hands. 

The  boy's  garments  were  cut  in  strips  from  head  to  foot. 


430 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  X. 

It  was  midnight,  Albaii  and  Dr.  Cone  kept  a  sort  of  vigil  over 
the  kitchen  fire. 

"  It  is  a  month  since  we  began  to  be  persecuted  in  this  way," 
said  the  Doctor.  "  At  first  I  fancied  that  the  boys  were  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  Then  I  suspected  the  servants  of  compUcity,  and 
that  men  were  concealed  in  the  house.  Very  soon,  however, 
things  came  to  such  a  pass  as  to  preclude  every  hypothesis  of  nat- 
ural, human  agency.  You  have  seen  nothing  yet  I  My  books  have 
been  flung  into  the  fire  before  my  eyes  by  invisible  hands,  and 
with  difficulty  saved.  A  good  deal  of  property  has  been  destroyed, 
particularly  clothing,  as  you  saw  that  little  boy's  jacket  and  trow- 
sers  to-night  cut  into  ribbons.  Mrs.  Fay  and  Mrs.  Cone  have  had 
their  bonnets  secreted,  (usually  it  was  discovered,  just  as  they 
were  going  to  meeting,)  and  when  found,  it  was  behind  some 
heavy  furniture,  crushed,  and  completely  ruined." 

"  Human  agency  might  have  done  this,"  observed  Alban, 

"  True,  and  the  suspicions  of  the  ladies  fell  upon  Bridget,  our 
Catholic  girl.  They  thought  she  might  have  done  it  to  prevent 
their  going  to  church." 

"  Why  not  as  well  suspect  Harriet — or  is  she  a  Protestant  V* 
asked  Alban. 

"  She  is,  and  has  been  one  of  the  greatest  sufferers  all  along. 
Her  clothes  are  spirited  away,  and  found,  half-destroyed,  in  some 
out-of-the-way  place.  And  the  girl  has  been  pinched  (the  ladies 
say)  black  and  blue." 

"  Pinching  the  maids  I  It  is  the  old  trick  attributed  to  the 
fairies,"  observed  Alban.    "  What  is  Harriet's  character  I" 

"  She  is  such  as  you  see  her  :  a  pretty  girl  I"  said  the  Doctor 
grimly.  "  She  would  have  left  us  if  I  had  not  promised  to  make 
good  her  losses,    Of  course  it  would  be  very  disagreeable  to  engage 


ALBAN. 


431 


new  servants  under  these  circumstances,  and  difficult  too.  Bridget 
was  frantic  for  going,  at  first,  but  her  priest,  whom,  at  my  in- 
stance, she  went  some  thirty  miles  to  consult,  advised  her  to  stay. 
She  was  the  first  to  say  they  were  spirits,  and  then  we  all  laughed 
at  her  superstition." 

"  And  suspicion  fell  upon  ^er,"  said  Alban,  with  a  grave  smile. 
"  It  is  the  only  thing  like  a  motive,  that  I  have  discovered  yet,  sir, 
in  the  acts  of  petty  mischief  which  you  relate,  or  which  I  have  wit- 
nessed." 

"  At  times,"  observed  the  doctor,  looking  round  apprehensively, 
and  lowering  his  voice,  "  I  doubt  there  may  be  a  motive,  even  for 
what  looks  like  mere  wantonness." 

"  And  that  is,  sir  ?" 

"  The  desire  to  communicate  with  the  living,"  whispered  the 
doctor. 

Rap,  rap,  rap  ;  rap,  rap  ;  rap,  rap  :— the  whole  kitchen  re- 
sounded I  Even  Alban  turned  pale.  The  cold  sweat  stood  on  Dr. 
Cone's  forehead. 

"  The  petty,  but  irritating  injuries  inflicted  seem  to  proceed,  if 
I  may  venture  to  say  it,"  proceeded  the  doctor,  still  lowering  his 
voice,  "  from  impatience  that  we  cannot  or  will  not  understand 
them." 

Rap,  rap  ;  rap,  rap. 

"  Do  you  hear  ?    It  is  an  answer." 

'*  Have  you  ever  communicated  with  them  in  this  way  be- 
fore ?"  asked  Alban,  rather  solemnly,  and  giving  the  minister  a 
piercing  glance. 

"  Occasionally  at  night,  after  the  family  have  retired,"  re- 
plied his  host  trembling.  "  I  sometimes  fear  that  I  have  done 
wrong." 

There  was  a  crash,  simultaneous  with  the  last  word.  Both 
looked  round  startled.  A  pane  of  glass  had  been  broken.  Yet  the 
outside  shutters  were  all  fast  closed. 

"  It  is  written,"  said  Alban  in  a  firm  tone — "  'tis  but  last 
night  that  a  peculiar  conversation  led  me  to  examine  the  passage 


432 


ALB AN . 


— '  Neither  let  there  be  found  among  you  any  one  that  consulteth 
soothsayers,  or  observeth  dreams  and  omens,  neither  let  there  be 
any  wizard,  nor  charmer,  or  that  consulteth  pythonic  spirits,  or 
that  seeketh  the  truth  from  the  dead.''  " 

There  was  a  faint  scream — faint  and  peculiar  :  Alban  had 
never  heard  aught  like  it. 

"  Had  you  never  a  dream  to  which  you  could  not  refuse  cre- 
dence ?"  asked  his  companion,  unheedful  of  this  strange  sound. 
"  Knew  you  never  a  dream  exactly  fulfilled  ?" 

"  I  must  answer  both  questions  in  the  affirmative,"  replied 
Alban  with  emotion,  "  but  one  of  those  dreams,  I  had  reason  to 
suppose,  came  from  above,  and  the  other  I  yet  dqubt." 

Both  were  now  extremely  startled  to  observe  all  at  once,  that 
chairs  had  been  placed  on  either  side  of  them,  so  as  to  form 
with  those  which  themselves  occupied,  a  complete  semicircle 
around  the  ample  fireplace.  Alban's  blood  froze  in  his  veins  at 
the  sight  (if  one  could  say  so)  of  this  awful  session  of  viewless 
beings,  prepared  to  participate  in  their  midnight  colloquy, 

"  They  w^ish  to  converse  with  us,"  said  the  minister,  with  a 
sudden  energy,  and  pressing  Alban's  arm.  "  Let  us  gratify  them. 
I  have  thought  of  a  way,  if  you  have  no  objection.  It  is  by  call- 
ing out  the  letters  of  the  alphabet.  When  they  rap  at  a  letter, 
you  shall  write  it  down,  and  so  we  can  spell  out  word  by  word 
into  a  regular  sentence." 

An  intense  curiosity,  despite  his  fears  and  scruples,  overcame 
Atherton.  The  host,  with  wild  eyes,  extended  to  him  some  tablets 
and  a  pencil,  which  he  hesitatingly  received. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  but  they  can  inform  us  respecting  the 
future  world  and  its  employments" — (rap,  rap,  rap,  on  the  floor 
at  their  feet) — "  the  state  of  the  soul  after  death — (rap,  rap.) — 
*'  Do  you  hear." 

A  heavy  step  was  heard  on  the  kitchen  stairs,  some  one  slowly 
descending.  After  a  minute  of  expectation  they  w^ere  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  the  girl  Bridget,  with  a  shawl  thrown  over  her 
half-bare  shoulders,  and  a  large  ruffled  cap,  as  if  she  had  hastily 


ALB  AN. 


433 


risen  from  bed.  She  looked  frightened,  and  her  great,  black  beads 
were  clasped  in  her  hands. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  asked  her  master,  roughly.  "  Have 
you  no  more  sense  of  decency  than  to  come  down  in  that  garb 
at  this  hour  of  the  night,  while  there  are  young  gentlemen  in  the 
house  ?" 

"  Och,  indeed,  sir,  and  I  big  a  thousand  pardons  for  comin' 
down,  but  surely  I  dramed  them  spirits  was  a  murthering  this 
young  gentleman,  and  it  was  on  my  mind,  sir,  to  ask  you  to  step 
to  his  room  (bein'  I  couldn't)  and  see  if  all  was  right." 

A  sharp  reproof  evidently  hovered  on  her  master's  lips,  but 
Atherton  interposed. 

"  Thank  you,  Bridget.  You  see  I  am  safe.  The  Blessed  Virgin, 
will  protect  me,  you  know." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  and  that's  true,  if  you  have  light  and  grace  to 
ask  her.  But  maybe  you'd  condescend  to  put  these  beads  round 
your  neck  for  to-night.  They  are  the  beads  of  St.  Bridget  that  I 
brought  from  ould  Ireland,  and  there's  a  hundred  days'  indulgence 
for  every  one  that  slips  through  your  fingers.  No  harm 'd  come 
near  you,  sir,  with  it  round  your  neck,  and  I  am  safe  with  the  scap- 
ular, sir,  let  alone  that  I  said  the  third  part  of  the  rosary  before  I 
laid  me  down." 

*'  Thank  you,  Bridget — thank  you  kindly.  Keep  your  rosary, 
and  pray  for  me." — He  kissed  the  small  metal  crucifix  attached  to 
the  bead-string,  and  returned  it  to  her,  with  a  smile  peculiar  to 
Atherton. 

The  girl  retired,  not  without  offering  the  beads  once  more. 

"  You  are  a  humorist,  I  perceive,  Mr.  Atherton,"  observed  Dr. 
Cone,  when  the  girl  had  disappeared.  *'  I  question,  however,"  he 
added,  somewhat  gravely,  "  whether  it  is  right  to  countenance 
such  superstitions,  even  in  jest." 

"  You  had  better  put  that  question  to  the  spirits,  doctor," 
replied  Alban,  rising.  "  And,  by.  the  by,  if  you  will  excuse  me, 
sir,  1  will  retire." 

The  kitchen  was  now  quiet,     duiet  was  the  hall  and  his 

37 


434 


ALBAN . 


own  chamber.  But  as  he  was  entering  the  last,  the  door  of  Mrs. 
Fay's  room,  which  was  just  opposite,  opened  with  some  fracas,  and 
Mrs.  Fay  appeared  with  a  candle  in  her  hand.  She  attempted 
to  shut  the  door  instantly  that  she  saw  Atherton,  but  some  obsta- 
cle prevented  its  closing,  and  while  she  quickly  stooped  down  to 
remove  it,  he  caught  almost  involuntarily  a  glimpse  of  the  interior 
of  the  chamber. 

The  fair  occupant  had  been  writing  ;  for  a  table,  with  an 
additional  candle,  some  writing  implements,  and  an  unfinished 
letter  upon  it,  was  drawn  close  to  the  fire.  The  bed  was  directly 
over  against  the  door,  and  little  Rosamond,  who  had  apparently 
just  started  up,  was  hiding  herself  again  under  the  bed-clothes. 
The  object  which  had  prevented  the  door  from  closing  was  an 
inkstand,  and  Alban  perceived  large  and  numerous  stains  of  ink 
on  the  tasteful  white  wrapper  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Fay. 


ALBAN. 


435 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  season  advanced,  and  even  the  dreary  table-land  of  Carmel 
assumed  somewhat  of  the  smiling  aspect  of  early  summer.  The 
great  button-balls,  lining  the  road  before  Dr.  Cone's  house,  were 
covered  with  delicate  green  leaves,  and  spread  a  checkered  shade 
on  the  old  front  piazza.  The  orchards  were  white  and  pink  with 
apple  blossoms  ;  the  garden  was  gay  with  those  of  the  cherry 
trees  and  hardy  plums.  The  cool  air  that  blew  from  the  hills 
over  the  plain,  carried  their  fragrance  on  its  wings.  Still  the 
indoor  fires  glowed  night  and  morning,  and  only  slumbered  in 
white  embers  during  the  warmer  hours  of  mid-day. 

The  singular  visitation  by  which  the  old  mansion-house  was 
haunted  had  not  ceased.  Sometimes,  indeed,  perfect  quiet  would 
reign  for  a  week,  so  far  as  any  supernatural  disturbance  was  con- 
cerned ;  then  the  mysterious  agency  would  break  forth  in  mani- 
festations of  greater  violence  than  ever.  As  time  went  on  the 
character  of  these  singular  phenomena  changed.  A  great  deal 
of  petty  mischief  continued  to  be  done,  nearly  exhausting  the 
patience  of  every  one  except  quiet  Dr.  Cone,  and  the  ever  elastic 
Rosamond  Fay.  It  was  wonderful  how  patient  Dr.  Cone  was, 
although  he  suffered  considerably  in  his  property,  and  something 
more  in  the  reputation  of  his  family.  They  kept  it  secret  as 
much  as  they  could,  but  events  so  marvellous  could  not  be  pre- 
vented from  transpiring.  Hundreds  of  persons  came  to  see  the 
operation  of  the  "  spirits,"  and  although  the  family  resisted  such 
applications  wherever  they  could,  and  both  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Cone 
assured  their  visitors  that  the  stories  which  they  had  heard  were 
exaggerated,  and  that  some  natural  method  would  probably  yet  be 
discovered  to  account  for  what  at  present  seemed  inexphcable,  the 
idea  gained  ground  that  it  was  the  work  of  the  devil. 

But  within  the  family  itself  a  system  of  communication  with 


436 


ALBAN. 


these  unseen  agents  of  mischief,  was  now  quite  established.  It 
was  ascertained,  for  example,  that  a  request  to  them,  couched  in 
civil  terms,  would  procure  at  least  the  temporary  cessation  of  any 
peculiarly  vexatious  demonstration.  The  method  of  interpreting 
the  rappitigs,  sug-gested  by  Dr.  Cone  to  Alban,  the  former  did  not 
venture  publicly  to  adopt,  for  nearly  all  the  adult  members  of  the 
family  were  of  the  opinion  that  it  would  be  criminal  to  hold  such 
an  intercourse  with  beings  who  could  only  belong  to  the  infernal 
hosts. 

"  They  can  only  be  '  spirits  in  prison,'  "  observed  Alban  ;  "  for 
angels  and  good  spirits,  if  permitted  at  all  to  hold  communication 
with  the  living,  would  not  be  restricted  to  such  imperfect  methods. 
These  attempts  to  hold  parley  by  inarticulate  noises  and  acts  of 
mischief,  prove  restraint.  These  beings  might  and  would  do 
more  if  they  were  permitted,  or  if  they  dared." 

"  Good  beings  would  not  do  mischief  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Cone. 

The  justice  of  our  hero's  reasoning  was  soon  made  apparent 
by  a  freer  communication  suddenly  taking  place.  Books  were 
found  lying  open  with  paper  marks  adhering  to  significant  passa- 
ges. The  Bible  was  much  used  in  this  manner.  A  large  family 
copy  which  lay  on  a  reading  stand,  would  fly  open  spontaneously 
in  the  midst  of  a  conversation,  and  at  some  wonderfully  apt  text 
would  be  found  a  narrow  slip  of  paper,  sticking  as  fast  as  if  it  had 
been  glued,  yet  apparently  by  mere  atmospheric  pressure.  Some- 
times the  texts  selected  were  expressive  of  pious  and  appropriate 
sentiments,  such  as  the  hope  of  the  resurrection,  the  reality  of  a 
future  state  of  rewards  and  punishments,  and  so  on  ;  at  others 
the  passages  marked  were  among  those  which,  particularly  as 
found  in  the  common  Protestant  translation,  are  by  no  means  suit- 
able for  indiscriminate  perusal,  and  which  caused  the  females  to 
retire  from  the  book  with  a  blush. 

The  communion  season  of  Dr.  Cone's  Church  was  now  ap- 
proaching. They  had  it  once  in  two  months,  and  some  of  the 
family  remembered  that  the  last  occasion  had  been  marked  by 
peculiar  outrages,  bearing  more  the  impress  of  malignity  than  any 


ALB AN . 


437 


which  had  occurred  before  or  since.  In  all  instances  of  this  kind 
it  was  remarked  that  one  or  two  individuals  were  the  special  ob- 
jects of  attack.  The  pi-etty  Harriet,  and  Eddy,  the  youngest  of 
Dr.  Cone's  pupils,  have  been  already  mentioned  ;  but  there  was  a 
boy  employed  by  the  minister  about  his  stable,  the  son  of  one  of 
his  poorer  neighbors,  who  could  not  enter  the  house  without  some 
strange  missile  being  hurled  at  him,  and  he  averred  (but  Mrs- 
Cone  declared  it  was  only  his  imagination)  that  he  felt  himself 
dragged  towards  the  well,  whenever  he  accidentally  approached 
it,  as  if  some  one  were  endeavoring  to  throw  him  in.  He  was 
certain  that  when  sent  to  fetch  wood  he  was  frequently  hurt  by 
the  fall  of  large  fagots  ;  and  once  a  tall  wood-pile  suddenly  pre- 
cipitated itself  upon  him  as  he  was  filling  a  basket  for  the  Frank- 
lin. It  was  a  miracle  that  he  was  not  killed,  and  the  lad  made 
it  an  excuse  for  fetching  no  more.  It  was  a  half-simple  lad,  was 
Jake,  and  some  of  the  stories  which  he  told  of  his  persecutions 
were  too  marvellous  for  belief.  Harriet  said  that  Jake  pulled 
down  the  woodpile  upon  himself,  and  that  for  her  part  she  was 
more  afraid  of  him  than  of  the  spirits.  Like  many  beings  of  that 
unhappy  class,  Jake's  animal  propensities  were  more  fully  devel- 
oped than  his  mental  powers,  and  if  ugliness  could  provoke  the 
malice  of  demons,  his  ungainly  slimness  and  satyr-like  counte- 
nance would  account  for  their  hostility. 

The  sacrament  Sunday  at  Carmel  happened  to  synchronize 
with  a  festival  of  the  Church,  on  w^hich  Episcopalians  also  usually 
celebrate  the  rite  of  communion,  and  Mrs.  Fay  being  a  pious  mem- 
ber of  that  denomination,  proposed  to  go  down  to  Yantic  Falls 
to  receive  on  this  occasion,  because  there  was  an  Episcopal 
church  there.  The  distance  was  not  more  than  ten  miles  ;  Dr. 
Cone  lent  his  gig,  and  Alban  had  offered  to  drive.  All  that  week 
the  disturbance  in  the  house  was  nearly  unremitting.  The 
knockings  were  incessant,  day  and  night  ;  the  furniture  was 
thrown  about  remorselessly,  panes  of  glass  were  broken  daily, 
clothes  and  books  were  burned  ;  a  bed  was  found  in  a  blaze  at 
noonday,  and  the  flames  with  difliculty  were  extinguished ;  Har- 

37* 


438 


AL  B AN . 


riet  was  wounded  in  the  cheek  by  a  pitcher,  and  a  new  dress 
which  she  had  purchased  at  Yantic  was  missing  from  her  chest, 
and  not  to  be  found  on  the  strictest  search.  But  what  was  more 
alarming,  Eddy  was  taken  with  fits  of  screaming  every  evening. 
Dr.  Cone  punished  him  in  vain.  Mrs.  Fay's  dehcate  health  suf- 
fered from  the  incessant  nervous  agitation  which  all  this  produced, 
besides  that  she  had  her  private  troubles  which  she  concealed  as 
much  as  she  could.  Little  Rosamond  told  Alban  that  her  mother 
was  visited  by  the  spirits  every  night.  It  was  singular  that  the 
most  earnest  and  polite  requests  for  a  cessation  of  the  infliction, 
had  no  longer  any  effect.  Mrs.  Cone  would  sometimes  fly  into  a 
passion  and  abuse  the  unseen  mischief-workers,  but  that  only 
procured  an  increase  of  annoyance. 

*'  I  would  leave  the  house,  Mr.  Atherton,  were  it  in  my  pow- 
er," said  Mrs.  Fay,  on  Saturday  afternoon. 

They  were  walking  in  the  piazza,  arm  in  arm,  for  Alban  had 
become  a  favorite  with  the  invalid.  As  they  passed  the  parlor 
window  there  was  a  crash  ;  a  dark  object  shot  swiftly  by,  and 
fell  upon  the  grass  of  the  court-yard.  The  window  pane  showed 
only  a  round  hole  as  large  as  a  grape-shot  ;  the  dark  object  was 
a  common  poker.  The  force  necessary  to  effect  a  passage  through 
the  glass  without  producing  a  larger  fracture,  was  at  least  equal  to 
that  of  a  well-charged  rifle.    There  was  no  one  in  the  parlor. 

"  If  I  could  only  get  a  peaceful  night  before  going  to  com- 
munion to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Fay,  in  a  sweet,  but  despairing 
tone. 

"  You  have  never  tried  the  experiment  of  asking  them  to 
desist,"  observed  Alban. 

"  Never  yet,  but  I  really  think  I  must  try  it.  Lately  it  has 
not  succeeded  so  well." 

"  I  object  to  it  on  principle,"  responded  Alban.  "The  favors 
of  the  devil,  or  of  spirits  malicious  and  lost  to  goodness,  are  more 
to  be  dreaded  than  their  hostility,  which  after  all  is  controlled  by 
a  higher  power.  They  can  do  nothing  but  what  is  permitted 
them,  as  they  have  repeatedly  confessed." 


ALBAN. 


439 


"  Yet  if  I  could  gain  a  tranquil  evening  and  an  undisturbed 
night  before  communion,"  urged  Mrs.  Fay.  "  Really  I  feel  that 
I  must.  If  that  boy's  screams  should  be  renewed  to-night,  I  think 
I  shall  go  distracted.  Besides,  Mr.  Atherton,  they  knock  upon 
my  head-board  at  night." 

"  Do  they  really  ?" 

"  I  have  fancied  it  was  Rosamond,  you  know,  and  then,  as  if 
they  read  my  thoughts,  it  would  occur  when  her  little  arms  and 
limbs  were  fast  imprisoned  in  mine — oh  I  it  is  beyond  endurance. 
And  such  temptations  as  are  suggested  to  my  mind  in  order  to 
escape.  You  are  never  troubled  in  your  own  room,  Mr.  Atherton  ?" 

"  Never." 

"  Is  it  because  you  are  so  good,  or  because  you  are  so  bad  ?  I 
have  thought  at  times  that  if  I  would  do  some  wicked  thing  they 
would  let  me  alone." 

"  If  you  will  be  patient  under  it  till  to-morrow,"  said  Alban, 
"  as  we  ride  down  to  Yantic,  I  will  explain  to  you  a  w^ay  by 
which  I  think  you  may  be  exempt  from  future  annoyance." 

"  You  have  several  times  spoken  to  me  in  that  mysterious  man- 
ner, Mr.  Atherton.  You  talk  as  if  you  had  a  charm,  such  as  that 
poor,  superstitious  Bridget  believes  in." 

"  Yet  Bridget  is  never  assailed  as  the  others  have  been.  Nei- 
ther her  person  or  property  have  been  injured." 

"  Well,  do  you  suppose  that  it  is  because  she  crosses  herself 
and  mutters  her  prayers,  whenever  any  strange  thing  happens  ? 
For  my  part,"  said  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Fay,  "  I  believe  the  secret 
is  that  she  is  not  so  pretty  as  Harriet.  You  laugh,  but  these 
beings  certainly  have  the  strangest  caprices.  Now,  there  is  my 
Rosamond.  "Why  should  they  not  cut  her  clothes  into  ribbons 
as  well  as  Eddy's  ?  To  be  sure  it  would  be  shocking  to  treat  a 
little  girl  so." 

"  You  think  that  Rosa  is  spared  for  the  same  reason  that  Harriet 
is  persecuted  ?  I  believe,  my  dear  Mrs.  Fay,  that  we  shall  be 
entirely  foiled  in  endeavoring  to  penetrate  the  motives  of  beings 
who  are  in  a  state  so  different  from  ours — beings  devoid  of  hope, 


440 


ALB  AN. 


freed  from  concupiscence  and  passion,  yet  possessed  of  power,  will, 
and  understanding.  I  have  perplexed  myself  much  to  arrive  by 
analysis  at  what  must  be  their  condition,  but  humanity  winds 
itself  too  closely  round  me.  How  know  you  that  the  spirit  within 
you — the  familiar  tenant  of  your  own  clay — is  not  endued  with 
a  latent  malice  exceeding  that  of  any  of  these  disembodied  ones 
whose  presence  we  have  been  made  so  strangely  to  feel  ?  They 
were  our  companions  but  a  few  days  since,  if  we  may  believe 
them.  The  sweet  chains  of  flesh  and  blood  bind  us  still,  and  if 
they  enslave,  restrain  us.  A  moment — I  think  of  it  often  with 
a  shudder — may  convert  a  polished  youth  or  a  modest-seeming 
woman  into  a  malicious  and  obscene  demon." 

Mrs.  Fay  coughed — her  violent  cough.  She  applied  her 
handkerchief  to  her  mouth,  and  took  it  away  again  dabbled  with 
blood. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  said  she,  sweetly  smiling  on  him. 
"  This  is  a  common  occurrence.  But  I  must  go  in.  I  fear  that 
your  conversation  has  induced  me  to  remain  out  longer  than  was 
prudent." 

It  M^as  evident,  however,  to  Alban,  that  she  was  considerably 
agitated.  He  supported  her  into  the  parlor,  and  persuaded  her  to 
recline  on  the  old-fashioned  chintz  sofa. 

"  Don't  call  any  one,"  said  Mrs.  Fay.  I  shall  be  better 
directly." 

A  very  singular  rap  commenced,  apparently  over  the  invalid's 
head.  None  of  the  sounds  which  Alban  had  heard  in  the  house 
were  any  thing  like  it.  At  the  same  instant  the  great  Family 
Bible  on  the  stand  slowly  opened.  Mrs.  Fay  in  a  low  voice  im- 
plored him  to  ascertain  for  her  the  passage  marked.  Atherton 
had  always  refrained  from  gratifying  his  curiosity  in  this  way. 

"  Of  what  use  is  it?"  said  he,  earnestly. 

She  sprang  up  and  went  to  the  book.  He  was  extremely  sur- 
prised to  see  her  tear  away  the  mark  with  violence.  She  closed 
the  Bible,  and  returning  to  the  sofa  with  an  air  of  desolation, 
clasped  her  hands.    The  rapping  continued.    Suddenly  the  door 


ALBAN. 


441 


of  a  closet  flew  open,  and  a  large  blue  junk  bottle  danced  out,  and 
went  dancing  and  tumbling  round  the  room.  It  was  fearfully 
ludicrous.    Presently  out  flew  another. 

"  Oh,  heavens  I"  exclaimed  the  unhappy  invalid  in  a  tone  of 
misery,  "  I  can  bear  it  no  longer.  I  ask  a  truce  till  to-morrow 
night.  Let  me  pass  this  night  in  quiet.  Whoever  you  are,  I  beg 
it  as  a  favor." 

The  bottles  rolled  over  on  the  carpet  and  were  quiet ;  the  rap- 
ping ceased  ;  and  a  bit  of  white  paper  came  floating  down  as  if 
from  the  ceiling,  falling  into  Mrs.  Fay's  lap.  She  took  it,  glanced 
at  it,  and  passed  it  to  Atherton.  It  was  inscribed,  in  a  singular 
but  legible  hand,  with  the  following  words  : 

"  You  shall  not  be  disturbed 

*  This  incident  was  related  to  the  writer  by  the  estimable  and 
intelligent  lady  to  whom  it  occurred.  "I  was  about  to  receive  the  Sacra- 
ment on  the  following  day,"  she  observed,  "and  I  was  extremely  desirous  of 
passing  a  tranquil  night,  particularly  as  not  a  single  night  had  passed  with- 
out some  disturbance.  So  I  said  something  to  that  effect,  and  feeling  war- 
ranted by  the  occasion,  although  I  entertained  scruples  as  to  the  lawfulness 
of  holding  communication  with  these  beings,  ventured  to  request  that  for 
this  night  they  would  leave  us  unmolested.  The  words  had  hardly  escaped 
my  lips  before  a  paper  fell  at  my  feet  on  which  was  written — You  shall  not 
he  disturbed." 


442 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  house  was  filled  with  the  peculiar  bustle,  prophetic  of  a  reli- 
g'ious  quiet,  that  belongs  to  a  New  England  Saturday  night.  Jake 
brought  in  armful  after  armful  of  wood  from  the  pile,  to  fill  the 
boxes  for  Sunday,  and  flung  it  in  without  a  word.  Biddy  strained  the 
contents  of  her  foamy  milk-pail  into  the  pans,  and  ranged  the  latter 
on  the  pantry  shelf  without  one  being  overset.  Hatty  finished 
mopping  the  painted  floors,  set  the  tea-table,  and  relieved  the 
mighty  oven  of  its  hot  and  fragrant  loaves,  of  the  vast  pan  of 
baked  beans,  and  the  flat  cakes  of  gingerbread,  without  once 
complaining  of  beixig  pinched,  or  pouting  her  pretty  lips  in  despite, 
because  her  table  was  lifted  some  inches  from  the  floor,  or  a  beauti- 
ful crusty  loaf  was  sent  spinning  into  a  distant  corner.  The  family 
partook  of  the  evening  meal  and  attended  evening  prayers  with 
the  feelings  of  ship  passengers  in  a  calm  after  boisterous  weather, 
or  just  arrived  in  port,  and  who  can  scarce  believe  the  absence 
of  that  restless  and  dizzy  m.otion  to  which  they  have  become  ac- 
customed. 

The  boy  whose  screams  had  lately  alarmed  them,  as  the  hour 
of  his  seizure  approached,  became  drowsy,  and  falling  asleep  at 
prayers,  was  carried  up  to  bed.  Whether  it  was  the  sudden 
withdrawal  of  excitement,  or  some  other  cause,  the  whole  family 
seemed  to  drop  off  much  earlier  than  usual,  nor  did  they  fail  to 
sleep  so  soundly  as  to  make  the  next  morning's  breakfast  consider- 
ably later  than  was  usual  even  on  Sunday.  Jake  brought  round 
Dr.  Cone's  smart-looking  chaise,  (this  was  Madam's  innocent 
vanity,)  with  the  shining-coated  bay  horse  and  well-appointed 
harness.  Alban  was  not  displeased  to  drive  a  lovely  and  elegant 
lady  into  Yantic,  on  one  of  the  finest  Sundays  in  June,  himself 
attired  in  his  sprucest  gear. 

Mrs.  Fay  had  a  lovely  spring  bonnet,  trimmed  with  lilac.  It 


ALBAN. 


443 


was  a  New  York  hat,  ordered  as  a  pattern  by  the  most  fashiona- 
ble milliner  in  Yantic,  of  whom  Mrs.  Fay  had  taken  it  at  no 
extravagant  price,  about  a  week  previous,  with  fear  and  trem- 
bling in  regard  to  its  probable  fate.  Well  might  she  tremble,  for 
she  had  had  one  bonnet  hidden  in  a  drain,  and  another  (but  that 
was  only  a  straw)  ruthlessly  crammed  behind  a  sofa.  And  if  the 
beautiful  invalid — who,  to  those  around  her,  seemed  on  the  verge 
of  the  grave — had  an  apparent  weakness,  it  was  her  love  of 
elegant  costume.  But  perhaps  that  was  a  part  of  the  facile  pro- 
priety, the  fine  perception  of  the  becoming  in  conduct,  which 
eminently  distinguished  her.  Rosamond  was  always  most  suita- 
bly dressed.  Being  only  turned  of  twelve,  she  wore  shortish 
frocks  and  pantalets.  This  bright  Sunday  morn  the  little  girl 
was  arrayed  in  a  cherry-colored  silk,  neatly  made,  with  a 
shadowy  Leghorn  crowning  her  jetty  ringlets  and  dark-bright 
countenance.  Mrs.  Fay  very  properly  placed  her  daughter  be- 
twixt herself  and  Alban,  and  the  trio  were  a  snug  fit  for  the  gig. 

And  now,  lest  the  reader  should  imagine  some  romantic 
mystery  in  the  domestic  relations  of  Mrs.  Fay,  inasmuch  as  we 
describe  her  certainly  not  as  a  widow,  yet  living  it  would  seem 
apart  from  her  husband,  of  whom  we  have  hitherto  made  no 
mention,  we  will  observe  that  she  was  the  wife  of  an  officer  in 
the  XJ.  S.  Navy,  and  that  Lieutenant  Fay  was  absent  on  a  cruise. 
There  was  undoubtedly  a  reason  why  his  name  was  so  much 
avoided  in  the  family  of  his  wife's  sister,  that  Alban,  for  instance, 
during  a  stay  of  seven  weeks,  did  not  remember  to  have  heard  it, 
except  that  once  or  twice  Rosamond  had,  as  if  inadvertently, 
spoken  of  "papa."  But  our  hero  was  aware  that  Mrs.  Fay  cor- 
responded regularly  with  her  husband,  and  the  brightest  glow  he 
had  seen  on  her  pale  cheek  was  on  a  day  when  he  brought  her 
from  the  Carmel  P.  0.  a  thick  letter,  stamped,  in  red  ink,  "  U.  S. 
Ship  Pacific." 

For  one  thing,  Atherton  knew  that  the  pay  of  a  lieutenant 
was  moderate,  and  he  guessed  that  Mrs.  Fay  had  very  little 
money  to  spare.    He  had  inferred  from  occasional  expressions 


444 


ALBAN. 


which  she  had  let  fall  in  regard  to  her  prolonged  stay  in  a  house 
where  she  suffered  such  terrihle  agitations,  that  considerations  of 
economy  made  it  necessary.  But  as  they  were  drawn  along 
swiftly  and  silently  over  the  smooth  turnpike,  Mrs.  Fay  seemed 
to  him  to  have  shaken  off  an  incubus.  She  had  never  con- 
versed with  him,  or  prattled  to  her  daughter,  so  naturally  and 
gayly. 

"Sister," — so  Mrs.  Fay  termed  Mrs.  Cone — "sister  would 
have  been  glad  to  prevent  your  being  my  beau  this  morning,  Mr. 
Atherton,"  with  a  smile. 

"  I  cannot  comprehend  why,"  returned  Alban,  very  sincerely. 
"  Certainly  I  am  a  more  suitable  one  than  Jake,  in  every  respect, 
I  flatter  myself,"  and  he  also  smiled. 

"  Sister  talked  to  me  quite  seriously  about  your  being.a  hand- 
some and  agreeable  young  man,  and  my  husband  being  away, 
and  so  on,  till  I  was  half  persuaded  that  I  was  going  to  do  some- 
thing very  improper  ;  and  then  I  thought  that  it  was  too  ridicu- 
lous. Why,  I  remember  you  when  you  were  a  baby,  as  I  told 
sister,  and  am  almost  old  enough  to  be  your  mother.  And  finally, 
I  could  not  abide  the  thought  of  such  a  gallant  as  Jake." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  I  would  never  go  to  Yantic  if  Jake  was  to 
drive  the  chaise — would  you?'''  cried  Rosamond. 

"  I  feel  quite  flattered,  Miss  Rosa,  that  you  prefer  me  to  Jake," 
said  Alban,  gravely. 

Rosa  blushed  and  was  silent. 

"  You  are  a  great  favorite  with  Rosa,"  said  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  mother  I  how  can  you  say  so — right  to  Mr.  Atherton's 
face  I  He  is  not  a  favorite  of  mine  any  more  than  William  Rus- 
sel,  or  Eddy  Edwards  is.  I  like  Mr.  Atherton,  mamma,  because 
he  is  so  polite  to  you — you  know  I  always  told  you  so." 

"  And  because  aunt  Cone  told  you  that  you  must  not,  on  any 
account,  fall  in  love  with  him,"  said  her  mother,  archly. 

"  Oh,  fie,  mamma  I  Mij  mother  tells  tales  out  of  school,  Mr. 
Atherton,  don't  she  ?    But  she  will  never  let  me  do  it." 

"  Aunt  Cone  seems  to  think  me  a  dangerous  character,"  said 


ALB AN . 


445 


Alban  ;  "  but  really,  her  precautions  do  not  strike  me  as  the  most 
judicious." 

"  I  asked  sister,"  observed  Mrs.  Fay,  still  smiling,  "  if  there 
was  any  thing  against  your  moral  character,  and  she  was  obliged 
to  confess  that,  so  far  as  she  knew,  it  was  unimpeached.  She 
said,  indeed,  that  you  had  been  '  rusticated,'  but  declined  telling 
me  what  had  been  your  offence." 

"  I  am  capable  of  committing  very  bad  actions,"  replied  Al- 
ban, evasively.  "  You  would  be  shocked  if  you  knew  to  what 
sins  I  am  sometimes  tempted — and  which  perhaps  I  sliould  com- 
mit, if  Providence  did  not  mercifully  put  it  out  of  my  power." 

"The  hfe  of  a  Christian,"  piously  observed  Mrs.  Fay,  "is  a 
continual  conflict  with  the  corruption  of  his  own  heart." 

"  If  one  could  be  sure  that  one  was  really  combating,"  an- 
swered the  young  man.  "  Mrs.  Cone,  now,  tells  me  that  sae  is 
sure  she  loves  Christ — she  is  sure  she  has  passed  from  death  loito 
life.  Nothing  can  convince  her  that  religion  (her  own  religion,  of 
course)  is  not  a  reality.  Do  you  suppose,  Mrs.  Fay,  that  she  hts 
any  conflicts,  or  is  ever  worsted  in  them  ?  or  how  is  it  that  she 
does  not  feel  what  a  great  saint  once  said,  that  no  man  knows 
ivhctlier  he  is  ivorthij  of  love  or  hatred  V 

"  I  do  not  like  the  Presbyterians — they  are  so  self-righteous," 
said  Mrs.  Fay,  "  although  1  beheve  that  there  are  good  Christians 
in  all  denominations." 

Alban  smiled. 

"I  was  brought  up  in  the  Episcopal  Church,"  continued  Mrs. 
Fay,  "and  so  was  Fanny;  but  she  married  a  Presbyterian  min- 
ister, and  of  course  she  joined  that  Church.  Now  that  is  what  I 
would  not  do,  Mr.  Atherton — leave  my  Church !  My  husband 
never  interferes  with  my  religion.  To  be  sure  he  is  not  a  religious 
man." 

It  was  natural  for  Alban  to  inquire  under  what  form  of  faith 
Lieutenant  Fay  was  nominally  ranked,  and  he  was  greatly  sur- 
prised when  Mrs.  Fay,  after  a  glance  at  Rosamond,  replied  that 
her  husband  was  a  Roman  Catholic. 

38 


446 


ALB AN. 


"  He  fell  in  love  with  me  at  a  ball,  when  I  was  only  seven- 
teen," she  said,  with  a  beautiful  smile.  "  My  friends  opposed  it 
on  the  ground  of  his  being  in  the  navy  and  a  Catholic.  But  I 
was  captivated  by  his  careless,  manly  manner,  his  ardor,  and  his 
handsome  uniform,  I  suppose,  and  about  two  years  after  we  were 
married.  Rosamond  was  born  before  I  was  twenty,  and  her  father 
never  saw  her  till  she  was  three  years  old.  That  was  the  hardest 
absence  I  ever  had  to  bear,  although  our  next — our  little  boy" — 
Mrs.  Fay  dashed  away  a  tear — "  my  husband  never  saw.  Then 
he  was  ordered  to  the  West  Indies,  and  I  went  to  Pensacola  to  be 
near  him,  and  there  my  other  little  girl  was  born.  She  was  a 
delicate  child  from  the  first,  and  as  her  little  brother  had  been  car- 
ried oiT  in  teething,  I  resolved  not  to  wean  her  as  long  as  I  could 
help  it,  and  that  is  the  way  I  lost  my  own  health.  And  after  all, 
she  took  the  scarlet  fever  in  that  fatal  year,  and  died  of  it.  Her 
father  was  absent  too,  but,  by  that  time,  I  was  used  to  bear  such 
tilings  alone  ;  nor  have  I  seen  him  since  ;  you  see  I  have  had  my 
yorrows,  Mr.  Atherton." 

"  Dear  mamma,"  exclaimed  Rosamond,  drying  her  eyes, 
"papa  will  be  made  a  commodore  one  of  these  days,  and  then 
he  will  take  us  to  sea  in  his  ship,  and  we  shall  have  better  times." 

"  Now  that  I  have  been  so  communicative,  Mr.  Atherton,"  re- 
sumed Mrs.  Fay,  after  they  had  driven  on  in  silence  for  some  time, 
"  I  hope  that  you  will  tell  me  what  is  that  charm  you  spoke  of  yes- 
terday by  which  I  can  be  free  from  the  persecution  of  these  spirits 
(if  such  they  are)  while  we  stay  at  my  sister's.  I  assure  you  that 
I  shall  be  glad  to  have  recourse  to  any  thing  reasonable,  for  apart 
from  the  agitation  which  I  suffer  from  their  attacks,  I  really  can- 
not afford  to  lose  so  many  valuable  articles  from  my  wardrobe. 
We  are  too  poor,  ain't  we,  Rosamond  ?" 

They  were  now  entering  the  beautiful  town  of  Upper  Yantic, 
and  the  bells  were  already  tolling  for  service.  Alban  did  not 
reply  to  Mrs.  Fay's  question,  while  they  were  driving  past  some 
of  the  old  Atherton  homesteads,  which  he  had  visited  thirteen 
years  before,  with  his  aunt  Elizabeth  and  cousin  Rachel.  But 


ALBAN. 


447 


when  they  emerged  into  the  open  road  again,  and  saw  the  white 
spires  of  the  Falls  gleaming  in  the  leafy  distance,  he  said, 

"  Did  it  never  strike  you,  Mrs.  Fay,  what  a  curious  religion  is 
depicted  in  the  New  Testament  ?  I  mean  about  demoniacal  pos- 
sessions, and  the  power  given  by  Christ  to  His  ministers  to  cast 
out  devils.  He  seems  to  give  it  as  a  perpetual  sign  :  '  In  my 
name  shall  tliey  c.a^t  out  devils' — '  they  shall  lay  hands  on  the 
sick,  and  they  shall  recover.''  This  power  certainly  must  exist 
still  in  those  to  whom  it  was  given,  if  our  religion  be  divine." 

"But  miracles  have  ceased,"  said  Mrs.  Fay. 

*'  Is  that  in  the  Bible  ?" 

"  No,  I  believe  not." 

"  Since  the  devils  are  come  back,"  said  Alban,  "  it  is  time  to 
have  recourse  to  the  power  which  formerly  expelled  them.  I  am 
not  at  all  surprised,  myself,  that  the  Kingdom  of  Darkness  should 
be  making  a  bold  push  in  New  England,  to  regain  a  portion  of 
its  old  dominion  over  the  bodies  of  men.  Unless  it  be  driven 
back  by  the  old  spiritual  arms  of  the  Apostles,  we  must  look  to 
see  demoniacal  possession  soon  re-established.  These  Presbyterians, 
certainly,  can  do  nothing  in  this  line  ;  but  the  ministers  of  your 
Church  pretend  to  derive  their  orders  from  the  Apostles.  Why 
dont  you  get  your  pastor  here  in  Yantic  to  visit  Carmel,  Mrs.  Fay, 
and  compel  the  man-hating  demons  to  return  to  their  abyss  ?" 

Shortly  after,  the  easy-going  gig  glided  into  the  rural  street  of 
Yantic — a  sunlit  road,  an  umbrageous  common,  a  wild  hill-side, 
villa-like  mansions.  The  organ  was  playing  when  they  reached 
the  church  door.  It  ceases  even  Mobile  Alban  is  carefully  hand- 
ing out  Mrs.  Fay  and  half  lifting  down  the  dark- eyed  Rosa  ;  and 
as  they  enter,  they  see  the  congregation  already  standing,  and  the 
white-robed  minister  is  saying  the  Dearly  beloved  brethren.  There 
were  two  ministers  in  the  desk,  in  one  of  whom  Alban  was  sur- 
prised to  recognize  his  friend,  Mr.  Soapstone,  and  in  the  other,  his 
mesmeric  acquaintance  of  the  stage-coach. 


448 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

As  soon  as  the  service  was  over,  Alban  went  up  the  chancel  to 
speak  to  Mr.  Soapstone.  A  careless  group  of  the  male  communi- 
cants, standing  at  the  rail,  were  eating  the  remainder  of  the  con- 
secrated bread,  and  draining  the  huge  chalice,  passing  the  latter 
from  hand  1o  hand.  The  whole  floor  along  the  rail  was  white 
with  crumbs,  and  Alban  blessed  God  that  he  could  be  morally  cer- 
tain it  was  nothing  but  bread  and  wine.  Poor  Mr.  Soapstone,  who 
thought  differently,  looked  daggers  at  his  irreverent  communi- 
cants, or  glanced  down  in  despair  at  the  Body  of  the  Lord,  as  he 
considered  it,  trampled  under  foot,  and  left  to  communicate  mice 
upon  the  chancel  carpet.  In  that  glance  of  mingled  wrath  and 
horror  the  future  convert  to  Rome  might  already  be  discerned  in 
the  zealous  Anglican  minister.  Mr.  Soapstone  gave  our  hero  a 
cordial  shake  of  the  hand,  and  introduced  him  to  "  the  rector  of 
the  parish,"  the  Rev.  Dr.  Patristic. 

"  Mr.  Atherton  and  I  have  met  before,"  said  the  latter,  with  a 
jovial  glance,  "  and  I  can't  say  that  even  his  name  is  a  surprise. 
By  the  by,  Mr.  Atherton,  you  came  in,  I  noticed,  with  an  old 
friend  of  mine,  Mrs.  Fay,  (lovely  woman.)  I  knew,  of  course, 
that  you  were  staying  at  Dr.  Cone's.  Well,  you  must  both  come 
and  take  pot-luck  with  us.  I  will  speak  to  Mrs.  Fay  as  soon  as 
I  have  changed  my  cassock  for  a  coat." 

So  saying,  the  rector  hastily  withdrew  into  a  sort  of  dark  closet 
or  passage  under  the  pulpit,  whither  Mr.  Soapstone  had  already 
retired,  and  whence  both  speedily  emerged  in  their  ordinary  garb. 
Alban  waited  at  the  rail  to  say,  in  reply  to  Dr.  Patristic's  invit' 
tion,  that  he  meant  to  take  Mrs.  Fay  to  his  uncle's. 

"  What,  old  Deacon  Atherton's  on  the  plain  I  Is  the  boy  mad 
You'll  get  a  fine  dressing  if  you  show  yourself  there.  And  wit" 
Mrs.  Fay  of  all  persons  I    Why,  your  uncle  is  the  bluest  and  bit 


AL  BAN . 


449 


terest  Puritan  in  all  Yantic.  And  besides,  you  will  get  nothing  to 
eat  but  cold  dough-nuts  and  gingerbread,  for  they  never  cook  any 
thing  on  Sunday.  No,  no  ;  come  to  the  rectory.  We  have  got  a 
prime  quarter  of  lamb  and  mint  sauce,  and  I  rather  think  Mrs. 
Patristic  has  a  batter  pudding  in  preparation,  which  you  will  find 
vastly  more  agreeable  than  the  rod  which  is  in  pickle  for  you  at 
your  uncle's." 

The  rectory  truly  seemed  the  abode  of  creature-comfort.  Mrs. 
Patristic,  a  fresh-colored  and  plump  dame,  preluded  the  dinner  by 
an  egg  beaten  up  with  wine  for  her  husband  and  Mr.  Soapstone, 
the  latter  of  whom  really  required  something,  having  made  a  step 
in  advance  since  the  preceding  Christmas  by  receiving  the  com- 
munion fasting.  Alban,  too,  played  a  very  good  knife  and  fork, 
for  although  so  dreamy  and  so  gentle  in  manner,  the  boy  was  no 
milksop,  and  here  the  host  encouraged  him  both  by  precept  and  ex- 
ample. The  ample  frame  of  the  rector  of  Yantic  required  a  large 
pasture.  The  sociability  of  the  party  was  aided  by  some  choice 
wine,  (which  your  sound  churchman  never  finds  amiss,)  and  it 
was  soon  very  difficult  for  Mrs.  Fay  and  our  hero  to  reahze  the 
scenes  they  had  lately  witnessed  otherwise  than  as  an  ugly  dream. 
Certainly  there  was  nothing  ghostly  about  Dr.  Patristic.  His 
commanding,  yet  seductive  eye  spoke  of  the  world  of  sense,  and 
his  rich  masculine  voice  had  nothing  in  it  of  the  hollow^ness  of  the 
tomb.  A  goodly  number  of  "olive  plants"  surrounded  his  table, 
from  a  fine  girl  of  eighteen,  his  eldest,  to  a  rosy-cheeked  boy 
of  five,  his  youngest  born.  Of  course  the  doctor  made  himself 
agreeable  to  Mrs.  Fay,  and  Alban  divided  his  attention  pretty 
equally  between  the  fresh-looking  Mrs.  Patristic  and  her  no  less 
blooming  daughter.  The  latter  had  a  cheek  soft  and  rich  as  a 
peach,  and  while  Atherton  chatted  with  her,  Mrs.  Fay's  beauti- 
ful gray  eye  often  roved  to  them  from  her  imposing  and  fluent 
host. 

Alban  had  promised  Mrs.  Fay  to  bring  forward  the  subject  of 
the  spirits,  but  for  some  time  he  found  no  opportunity.  At  length 
the  conversation  turned  on  Mr.  Soapstone's  asceticism.    Dr.  and 

38* 


450 


A  L  B  A  N  . 


Mrs.  Patristic  both  considered  that  the  young  clergyman  carried 
the  mortification  of  the  flesh  to  a  frightful  extent. 

"  What  think  you  of  tasting  no  food  till  sunset,  Mrs.  Fay  ? 
Nothing  else  deserves  the  name  of  fasting,  according  to  Mr. 
Soapstone.  He  says  it  was  the  mode  of  the  Jews  and  primitive 
Christians." 

"He  is  more  strict  than  the  Roman  Catholics,"  replied  the 
lady.  "  Lieutenant  Fay  once  kept  Lent  when  we  were  at  Pensa- 
cola,  but  we  always  dined  at  noon." 

"  No  Romanist  ever  fasts,"  observed  Mr.  Soapstone,  austerely. 
"  As  you  say,  even  in  Lent  they  are  allowed  a  full  meal  at  twelve 
o'clock.  Then  there  is  the  collation  in  the  evening,  and  '  custom 
has  introduced,'  a  cup  of  tea  or  coffee  in  the  morning,  with  a  bit 
of  bread.  This  is  not  fasting,  unless  it  be  fasting  to  take  three 
meals  a  day." 

"If  it  be  true  that  '  this  kind  can  come  forth  by  nothing  but 
by  prayer  and  fasting,'  Mrs.  Fay,"  said  Alban,  "  Mr.  Soapstone  is 
just  the  person  to  rid  us  of  our  persecutions  at  Carmel." 

"  What  persecutions  ?"  demanded  the  rector. 

Dr.  Patristic's  countenance  sobered  into  an  expression  of  pro- 
found interest,  as  he  listened  to  the  account  which  Mrs.  Fay  and 
Alban  now  proceeded  to  give  of  the  disturbances  in  Dr.  Cone's 
house. 

"  We  have  talked  over  similar  matters  before,"  said  he,  with 
a  significant  glance  at  Atherton.  "  Dr.  Cone  has  always  been  a 
believer  in  Mesmerism.  I  remember  that  several  years  ago  he 
was  full  of  certain  revelations  delivered  by  a  clairvoyant  boy." 

"  It  is  not  the  first  time,  then,  that  the  doctor  has  meddled 
with  forbidden  knowledge,"  observed  Alban. 

"  I  have  heard  strange  reports  about  noises  being  heard  at 
Carmel,"  said  the  rector,  "  but  I  took  for  granted  that  it  was  the 
silly  exaggeration  of  some  old  women.  Mrs.  Fay  and  you  have 
astonished  me.  How  very  strange  is  that  incident  of  the  billet 
being  thrown  down  I  And  that  horrible  junk  bottle  dancing  out 
of  the  closet !" 


ALB AN. 


451 


A  thrill  of  horror  ran  round  the  table,  but  Rosamond  Fay 
laughed. 

"  It  is  the  greatest  amusement  of  this  child,"  said  Atherton, 
"to  run  and  pick  up  the  things  that  are  thrown  about  the  house." 

"  I  must  pay  you  a  visit  at  Carmel,"  said  the  rector,  "  and  see 
for  myself.  No  human  hand  could  do  what  you  describe  as  being 
done." 

The  rector's  curiosity  was  excited  to  such  a  degree  that  he  re- 
solved to  visit  Carmel  that  very  evening  after  the  second  service. 
To  the  scandal  of  the  Puritans  at  Yantic,  and  even  of  his  own 
flock,  who  marvelled  at  such  style  in  a  minister.  Dr.  Patristic  kept  a 
pair  of  fine  bays  and  a  sort  of  curricle  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
drive  on  Sunday  evenings,  really  to  exercise  the  horses,  but  osten- 
sibly to  hold  service  in  a  neighboring  village.  Mrs.  Fay  and  Ath- 
erton readily  agreed  to  stay  for  an  early  tea,  and  start  at  the  same 
time  with  their  host.  Mr.  Soapstone  was  to  accompany  his  eccle- 
siastical superior,  to  try  the  eflect  of  an  exorcism.  Alban  never 
ceased  to  impress  upon  Mrs.  Fay  that  if  any  minister  of  her 
Church  could  lay  the  evil  spirits  at  Carmel,  Mr.  Soapstone,  being 
full  of  faith,  an  ascetic,  and  a  sort  of  confessor,  would  certainly 
be  able.  For  we  must  not  omit  to  mention  that  Mr.  Soapstone 
had  been  finally  driven  from  New  Haven  in  consequence  of  the 
unpopularity  of  his  views,  the  strong  anti-popery  feehng  excited 
in  the  community  by  the  death  of  Walker  having  required  a  vic- 
tim more  important  than  our  Alban.  The  whole  thing,  indeed, 
was  now  traced  up  to  his  Christmas-eve  sermon,  the  evergreen 
cross,  and  candles  on  the  communion  table. 

Dr.  Patristic,  not  being  an  ascetic,  but  a  husband  and  father, 
I    insisted  on  Mrs.  Fay  taking  a  seat  in  the  curricle,  an  arrangement 
which  Atherton  was  at  first  minded  to  resist  as  an  impudent  inva- 
sion of  his  rights,  but  a  gentle  whisper  from  the  lady  herself  pro- 
cured his  acquiescence.   The  gig  received  the  two  young  men  and 
1    Rosamond.    A  red,  red  sunset  soon  faded  over  the  hills,  and  the 
ij    nearly  perfect  orb  of  the  already  risen  moon  brightened  the  stern- 
I   featured  landscape.  Over  the  moon-lit  road,  now  rising  to  surmount 


452 


ALBAN. 


a  hill,  now  sinking  into  a  valley,  the  chaise  chased  the  curricle, 
the  single  horse  the  pair,  and  the  former  lost  no  ground,  though 
flecked  with  foam  from  the  ardent  rivalry. 
"  And  what  news  from  New  Haven  ?" 

"  Not  much.  Your  cousin  Henry  is  engaged,  they  say,  to  Miss 
Ellsworth." 

"  Is  that  all  ?" 

"  Miss  De  Groot  passed  through  on  her  way  to  enter  a  con- 
vent." 
''Ah  !" 

"  You  knew  of  it,  I  suppose  ?" 
I  am  not  surprised." 

*'  An  immense  grief  to  her  family,  it  was  understood.  Some 
said  that  she  had  quitted  them  clandestinely,  but  the  Everetts 
told  me  that  was  entirely  false." 

"  Of  course — it  is  too  absurd." 

"  She  was  travelling  with  a  couple  of  nuns,  and  the  mob  of 
New  Haven  with  a  lot  of  students  came  near  attacking  the  hotel." 
"  Miscreants  I" 

"  The  notion  was  that  these  terrible  nuns  were  carrying  off 
this  young  girl,  and  that  once  they  got  her  into  a  convent,  she 
would  never  be  allowed  to  come  out." 

"  And  so  they  Avanted  to  rescue  her,  even  against  her  will  ?  It 
was  rather  a  generous  idea,  after  all." 

"  The  New  England  people,  Atherton,  hate  Popery  in  every 
shape.  The  more  amiable  in  appearance,  the  more  they  suspect 
it." 

"  It  is  a  spiritual  system,  and  they  are  carnal." 

"The  common  impression  is  exactly  the  reverse." 

"  Yes,  because  by  spirituality  is  understood  vagueness.  A 
positive  spiritual  power  is  offensive  to  those  who  judge  after  the 
flesh.  It  is  not  simply  incredible  to  the  Protestant  mind,  it  is 
hateful,  that  the  Church  should  cast  out  devils,  work  miracles, 
forgive  sins,  impart  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  possess  the  gift  of  truth. 
Yet  all  these  are  what  Christ  does.    Protestantism  knows  Christ 


ALBAN. 


453 


only  as  a  lovely  abstraction,  and  shrinks  like  a  scared  fiend  from 
his  bodily  presence." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Mr.  Soapstone,  "  they  are  never  tired  of 
telling"  you  that  it  is  the  indisposition  of  the  carnal  heart  to  the 
truths  of  the  gospel,  which  makes  you  turn  from  pure  evan- 
geHcal  Christianity  and  justification  by  faith  alone,  to  a  system  of 
forms  and  works." 

"  '  Every  spirit  that  confesseth  not  that  Jesus  Christ  is  come 
hi  the  flesh  is  not  of  God,  and  this  is  antichrist.'  This  is  the 
Protestant  translation  ;  the  Vulgate  says,  '  that  dis.solveth  Jesus,' 
which  means  nearly  the  same.  To  separate  the  human  and 
divine  in  our  Lord,  either  in  His  person  or  His  religion,  is  antichris- 
tian.  But  how  very  strange,  Soapstone,  that  people  should  fancy 
it  to  be  a  mortification  of  the  carnal  heart  to  pick  out  a  religion 
for  one's  self  from  the  Bible  instead  of  receiving  it  from  the 
Church.  Why,  the  Protestant  principle,  in  this  respect,  is  the 
most  flattering  to  spiritual  pride  that  it  is  possible  to  conceive." 

Mr.  Soapstone  gravely  assented  to  all  these  propositions,  for 
fancying  himself  quite  pure  from  all  stain  of  Protestantism,  no 
one  more  ready  than  he  to  send  Protestantism  to  Coventry.  Al- 
ban  was  irritated  by  this  conceit,  which  indeed  renders  your  high 
Anglican  the  most  impracticable  animal  in  existence.  As  our 
hero  became  silent,  the  Anglican  minister  began  to  talk  about  his 
present  superior. 

"  I  came  to  Yantic,"  said  he,  "  supposing  that  Dr.  Patristic  was 
a  true  Catholic-minded  man.  But  he  has  only  a  smattering  of 
the  Fathers,  and  no  idea  at  all  of  the  Church.  Yet  he  thinks  he 
knows  every  thing.  In  regard  to  the  sacrament,  he  adopts  the 
Non-juring  hypothesis  of  an  Eucharistic  body  distinct  from  the 
natural,  and  that  the  consecrated  bread  itself  is  the  only  Body  of 
Christ  we  ever  receive." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?"  inquired  Alban. 

"  I  believe  with  the  Greek  Church  and  the  whole  body  of  the 
Fathers,  that  after  consecration  M'hat  was  bread  before  is  the  real 
Body  of  Christ,  and  the  cup  His  real  Blood.    From  Justin  Martyr 


454 


ALBAN. 


and  Ignatius  down,  there  is  but  one  voice  on  this  subject  in  all 
Christian  antiquity,  although  the  word  Transubstantiation  did  not 
come  into  use  till  a  comparatively  modern  period." 

"  I  suppose  then,"  said  Alban,  "  that  when  Dr.  Patristic  to-day 
after  service  gave  you  a  double  handful  of  the  communion-bread 
to  consume,  this  was  the  reason  you  knelt  down  in  the  chancel  to 
eat  it,  instead  of  standing  as  he  and  the  rest  did.  It  looked  rather 
funny,  but  you  believed  it  was  the  real  body  of  Christ  ?" 

"  Assuredly." 

"  And  the  contents  of  that  huge  chalice  which  one  or  two 
nervous  girls,  I  noticed,  came  near  spilling  when  they  took  it  into 
their  hands  for  communion,  you  believed  to  be  the  real  Blood  of 
Christ  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Atherton." 

"  To-day  being  a  great  feast,  nearly  all  the  devout  members  of 
your  Church  must  have  received  communion — say  half  a  miUion 
of  persons  in  all,  (a  large  estimate  perhaps,) — how  many  of  these, 
do  you  suppose,  believe  as  you  do  about  it  ?" 

"  Perhaps  two  or  three  individuals — perhaps  not  one,"  replied 
Mr.  Soapstone,  heroically. 

"  And  the  rest  had  as  little  idea  what  they  were  receiving  as 
the  mice  who  took  what  was  left  on  the  floor  this  morning.  If 
the  Ark  of  God  smote  the  Philistines  with  plagues,  and  slew  the 
men  of  Bethshemesh  for  prying  into  it,  I  wonder  greatly  at  the  im- 
punity of  your  people  in  eating  without  discerning  the  Body  of  the 
Lord.  Does  God,  year  after  year,  permit  the  commission  of  such 
horrible  wholesale  sacrilege  ?" 

"  True,"  groaned  Mr.  Soapstone.  "  It  is  very  distressing,  es- 
pecially when  we  remember  what  the  Fathers  say  even  in  the 
second  century,  of  the  care  used  by  the  primitive  Christians  to 
prevent  a  particle  of  the  sacred  Body  falling  to  the  earth,  or  a 
drop  of  the  precious  Blood  being  spilt.  I  am  quite  with  you  there." 

"  But  how  can  you  remain  in  your  present  communion  with 
such  feelings  ?" 

"  With  a  view  of  calling  it  back  from  its  errors,"  replied  Mr. 


ALBAN . 


455 


Soapstone.  "  Our  Church  does  not  claim  infallibility.  If  falli- 
ble, she  may  be  in  error.  If  in  error,  she  ought  to  be  set  right. 
Before  Henry  the  Eighth's  time,  the  Church  of  England  held 
Transubstantiation.    I  believe  as  she  believed  then." 

"  What  nonsense  I"  exclaimed  Alban.  "  The  essence  of  a 
Church  is  in  the  profession  and  inculcation  of  truth.  Where 
there  is  not  identity  of  doctrine,  the  identity  of  a  Church  van- 
ishes. You  are  no  more  the  same  Church  which  existed  in  En- 
gland before  Henry  the  Eighth,  than  a  changelhig  is  the  same 
child  with  that  ivhose  cradle,  name,  and  inheritance  it  usurps'"' 

After  some  desultory  conversation  on  this  point,  which  the 
Anglican  minister  would  by  no  means  concede,  to  A] ban's  sur- 
prise, his  companion  fell  back  upon  some  of  the  popular  objections 
to  Transubstantiation  itself,  urging  them  not  against  the  tenet  in- 
deed, but  against  the  practice  of  communion  in  one  kind. 

"  To  reason  in  this  way,"  said  Alban,  "  is  to  fall  below  the 
region  of  pure,  unclouded  ideas  into  the  mist  of  the  senses,  and 
to  betray  as  gross  an  ignorance  of  spiritual  laws  as  the  clown 
does  of  natural,  who,  because  his  ponds  are  not  emptied  by  night, 
refuses  to  believe  the  revolution  of  the  globe  on  its  axis.  Come 
now,  with  this  pretended  philosophy,  and  analyze  for  me  the 
germ.  Explain  how  it  is,  that  in  a  speck  of  albumen,  so  minute 
that  it  needs  a  microscope  to  discover  it,  are  contained  all  the  mani- 
fold characteristics  of  the  class,  the  order,  the  genus,  the  species,  and 
the  variety,  to  which  the  future  individual  belongs — all  the  trans- 
missible peculiarities  of  both  his  parents,  bodily  and  mental — the 
red  hair  of  one,  the  club-foot  of  another,  the  insanity  or  genius  of 
a  grandparent.  And  how  does  that  same  speck  of  albumen  (the 
flesh  of  the  first  Adam)  communicate  the  spiritual  effects  of  the 
fall,  and  cause  the  new  being  to  be  infected  with  concupiscence, 
devoid  of  justice  and  sanctity,  and  an  alien  from  God  ?  These 
questions  solved,  I  will  explain  the  rationale  of  concomitance,  and 
the  life-giving  virtue  of  communion." 

The  young  Rosamond,  nestling  in  her  corner  of  the  gig,  with 
her  slender  limbs  crossed,  to  take  up  as  little  room  as  possible, 


456  A  L  B  A  N  . 

listened  with  an  attention  which  verified  the  proverb  about  the 
ears  possessed  by  "  Uttle  pitchers."  But  ten  miles  of  good  road 
are  soon  got  over  by  willing  steeds.  At  a  trifle  past  nine  the  cur- 
ricle and  gig  stopped  almost  at  the  same  moment  at  Dr.  Cone's 
gate.  Mrs.  Cone  came  out  into  the  piazza  to  reprove  her  sister 
for  choosing  to  return  by  moonlight  with  her  young  beau,  but  her 
thoughts  were  driven  into  another  channel  when  she  saw  Dr.  Pa- 
tristic, with  a  half  fatherly,  half  courtierly  air,  conducting  Mrs. 
Fay  up  the  gravelled  walk  to  the  house. 


ALBAN. 


457 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  first  sounds  which  saluted  the  ears  of  the  visitors  on  entering, 
and  indeed  before  entering,  were  the  shrieks  of  the  child  Eddy, 
who  had  been  going  on  terribly,  said  Mrs.  Cone,  ever  since  sun- 
down. The  quiet  of  the  Sabbath  had  not  been  disturbed  till 
that  hour,  when  just  as  the  sun  dropped  below  the  rim  of  hills, 
stifled  cries  were  heard  proceeding  from  the  chambers.  After  a 
brief  search,  following  the  sounds,  Eddy  had  been  found  in  the 
closet  of  Mrs.  Fay's  room,  perched  (goodness  knows  how  he  ever 
got  there  I)  on  a  shelf  so  high"  that  a  grown  woman  could  barely 
reach  it  by  the  aid  of  a  chair.  The  lower  part  of  the  closet  was 
a  press,  with  hooks  for  ladies'  dresses.  It  was  with  difficulty  that 
Dr.  Cone  and  the  eldest  pupil  had  succeeded  in  dislodging  the  poor 
little  fellow  from  his  dangerous  position,  for  he  resisted  with 
screams  every  attempt,  until  it  was  discovered  at  last  that  a  cord 
was  noosed  round  his  neck,  and  attached  to  one  of  the  hooks 
before  mentioned,  as  if  with  the  design  of  hanging  him.  This 
was  the  most  horridly  malicious  purpose  yet  betrayed  by  the 
invisible  persecutors  of  the  family.  Ever  since,  or  for  more  than 
an  hour,  the  boy  had  lain  on  the  floor  of  the  room  into  which  he 
had  been  conveyed,  uttering  incessant  screams,  but  apparently 
unconscious  of  what  was  going  on.  The  village  doctor  had  been 
sent  for,  and  had  administered  a  powerful  medicine,  which  hitherto 
•  had  produced  no  effect,  Such  was  the  account  given  by  Mrs.  Cone 
to  her  visitors,  and  confirmed  by  their  own  observation,  as  they 
stood  by  the  child  himself  in  his  dim  chamber.  The  two  elder 
pupils  and.  the  two  Irish  girls  were  watching  by  him. 

"  It's  a  divil  he  has,"  observed  Bridget,  pausing  in  her  beads. 
"  If  yer  riverince  could  but  spake  a  word  to  cast  him  out." 

"  Nay,  it's  but  fits,  the  doctor  says,"  returned  Harriet,  "  and 
what  could  his  reverence  do  for  fits  ?" 

89 


458 


ALB AN . 


*'  This  is  demoniacal  possession,"  said  Dr.  Patristic,  preparing 
to  retreat  from  the  room. 

Some  low  raps  on  the  dusky  walls  quickened  considerably  the 
rector's  flight.  In  the  cheerfully  lighted  parlor,  the  nature  of  the 
visitation  was  further  discussed.  Dr.  Patristic  betrayed  a  good 
deal  of  timidity,  particularly  when  Rosamond  Fay,  who  was  visi- 
bly dehghted  at  the  rector's  fears,  finding  that  the  spirits  were 
slower  than  usual  in  their  demonstrations,  slyly  pushed  over  one 
of  the  heavy  chairs  when  no  one  was  looking. 

"  Rosamond,"  said  her  mother,  after  reproving  the  child  for  this 
feat,  and  checking  the  untimely  mirth  which  followed  its  success, 
"  Rosamond  is  the  only  person  in  the  house  who  has  never  shown 
fear  on  these  occasions.  The  only  instance,  I  remember,  which 
at  first  looked  like  it,  was  when  Eddy's  clothes  were  cut  to 
pieces  on  the  night  that  you  arrived,  Mr.  Atherton.  She  screamed 
then,  but  I  afterwards  found  it  was  from  another  cause.  Rosa 
is  sensitively  modest." 

The  young  girl  grew  red,  and  at  the  final  word  hid  her  face 
in  her  mother's  lap.  Mrs.  Fay  merely  stroked  the  black-ringleted 
head  with  a  quiet  motion  of  the  hand  which  could  scarcely  be 
called  a  caress. 

"  I  wish  Mr.  Soapstone  would  begin  his  exorcism,"  said  Alban. 
"  I  have  great  faith  in  that." 

"  If  Dr.  Cone  has  no  objections,  I  think  we  might  do  something 
in  this  case,"  said  the  young  clergyman,  modestly. 

Dr.  Cone  observed  with  patient  courtesy  that  several  of  the 
neighboring  brethren  had  given  him  the  benefit  of  their  prayers. 
If  these  gentlemen  thought  that  those  of  a  minister  of  their 
Church  would  prove  more  efficacious,  they  were  welcome  to  try. 
The  truth  was  that  the  good  doctor,  as  well  as  the  family  in 
general,  would  have  been  glad  of  relief  from  any  source.  He  had 
felt  compelled  to  write  to  the  friends  of  the  afflicted  boy  to  take  him 
home,  and  justly  apprehended,  with  the  continuance  of  the  inflic- 
tion, the  loss  of  all  his  pupils,  not  to  speak  of  the  injuries  he 
received  in  his  property,  reputation,  and  comfort.   In  former  times 


ALB AN. 


459 


the  whole  world  believed  in  demoniac  agency,  but  now-a-days  few 
people  would  be  found  to  credit  any  thing  of  the  sort,  so  that  the 
least  imputation  to  w^hich  he  was  liable  was  that  of  being  easily 
imposed  upon. 

There  then  arose  a  brief  contest  of  professional  courtesy  be- 
tween the  rector  and  his  assistant,  which  should  officiate  on  this 
trying  occasion.  But  Dr.  Patristic  was  resolved  not  to  meddle 
more  than  he  could  help  with  spirits  of  darkness,  and  the  younger 
clergyman,  not  without  some  appearance  of  uneasiness,  yet  over- 
coming natural  fears  by  an  undaunted  spirit  and  a  faith  in  his 
own  vocation,  left  the  room  to  assume  his  cassock  and  bands,  sur- 
plice and  stole,  from  a  bundle  which  he  had  brought  in  the  curricle 
box.  He  reappeared  a  figure  calculated  to  awe  even  spirits.  In 
one  hand  he  bore  his  prayer-book,  and  in  the  other  a  large  vial, 
from  which  he  presently  poured  a  colorless  liquid  into  a  bowl 
placed  by  Mrs.  Cone,  at  his  request,  on  the  table. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  demanded  Dr.  Patristic,  aghast. 

"  Some  water  from  the  font,  which  I  saved  after  the  baptism 
this  evening,"  returned  the  assistant.  "  It  has  been  solemnly 
blessed  in  the  administration  of  the  sacrament,  and  I  deemed  it 
could  not  but  possess  some  power  to  quell  the  evil  spirits  whom 
baptism  has  ever  been  held  to  dispossess." 

"  It  is  Protestant  holy-water,"  said  Alban. 

"  Really,  brother  S.,"  returned  the  rector,"  I  doubt  if  our  Church 
ever  contemplated,  much  more  authorized,  such  an  application  of 
the  water  of  the  font." 

"  She  authorizes  us  to  bless  it,  and  does  not  prescribe  what 
shall  be  done  with  it  afterwards,"  rephed  the  young  clergyman. 
"  And  in  the  reign  of  Charles  I.  I  find  that  holy,  or  blessed  water 
was  used  in  the  Church  of  England  by  Laud,  Andrews,  and  some 
others.    So  I  am  not  without  precedent." 

Mr.  Soapstone,  therefore,  proceeded.  First,  he  opened  the 
great  Bible  and  read  with  much  solemnity  a  chapter  from  the 
gospel  containing  the  promise  of  our  Saviour  that  his  disciples 
should  cast  out  devils  in  his  name.     The  scene  was  deeply 


460 


ALBAN. 


impressive,  and  even  awe-inspiring,  but  less  so,  perhaps,  when  the 
young  minister,  closing  the  book,  invited  those  present  to  join  him 
in  the  Litany.  When,  however,  those  petitions  were  recited  which 
pray  that  "  Satan  may  be  finally  beaten  down  under  our  feet," 
and  "  that  those  evils  which  the  craft  or  subtlety  of  the  devil  or 
man  worketh  against  us,  may  be  brought  to  naught,"  the  voice  of 
the  reader  became  earnest,  and  most  present  were  sensible  of  an 
emotion  of  awe.  All  were  kneeling  except  Alban  and  Rosamond 
Fay.  The  latter  had  begun  to  laugh  when  Harriet,  who  was  sent 
for  on  the  score  of  her  being  an  Episcopalian,  responded  some- 
what louder  than  her  wont  ;  and  in  order  to  conceal  her  merri- 
ment, the  little  girl  was  forced  to  retreat  behind  the  sofa,  where 
she  remained  curled  up  on  the  floor  till  the  prayers  were  con- 
cluded. 

It  was  a  favorable  sign  that  the  knocking,  which  was  usually 
troublesome  at  prayer-time,  ceased  entirely  during  the  litany.  As 
the  prayer-book  did  not  contain  any  collect  expressing  the  precise 
intention  of  the  present  devotions,  the  young  clergyman  offered 
one  of  his  own  compos'ition,  brief  and  pointed,  appealing  to  the 
promise  made  to  the  ministers  of  Christ,  and  imploring  its  fulfil- 
ment in  the  deliverance  of  this  family,  and  particularly  of  the 
most  suflering  member  thereof,  from  the  malicious  persecutions  of 
Satan.  Mr.  Soapstone  used  not  many  vain  repetitions.  Rising 
from  his  knees,  he  sprinkled  the  font-water  round  the  room,  and 
upon  the  persons  present,  except  Alban,  who,  with  a  grave  ges- 
ture, declined  any  share  in  the  aspersion,  and  the  youthful  Rosa- 
mond, who,  apprehensive  perhaps  for  her  cherry-silk  frock,  when 
she  saw  her  turn  coming,  sprang  to  her  feet  and  took  refuge  be-  * 
hind  our  hero. 

"  It  is  quiet  now,"  said  Mrs.  Fay  to  the  latter,  in  a  half-whis- 
per, when  Mr.  Soapstone  had  left  the  room  to  say  a  prayer  and 
sprinkle  some  of  the  consecrated  element  over  the  little  sufferer 
up  stairs. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  going  to  succeed,"  replied  Alban,  in  the  same 
tone  of  voice.    "  We  shall  see  presently." 


ALBAN. 


461 


The  minister  returned,  and  all  being  indeed  hushed,  even  to 
Eddy's  shrieks,  concluded  with  an  appropriate  collect  and  the  ben- 
ediction. Scarcely  was  the  latter  uttered,  when  the  great  Bible 
from  which  he  had  read  the  lesson,  flew  open.  The  passage 
marked  was  in  the  Acts,  the  xixth  chapter  and  15th  verse.  All 
crowded  to  read  it,  but  ere  it  could  be  finished  by  Dr.  Patristic, 
whether  it  was  that  he  leaned  too  heavily  on  the  stand,  or  from 
a  supernatural  cause,  one  end  flew  up  ;  the  Bible,  the  candles, 
the  holy-water,  bowl  and  all,  went  rolling  off  in  all  directions. 
One  of  the  candles  blazing  up  on  the  carpet,  caught  Mr.  Soap- 
stone's  long  surplice,  and  in  a  trice  the  minister  was  enveloped 
in  flames.  Every  body  fled  from  him,  the  women  loudly  scream- 
ing, and  but  for  Atherton's  presence  of  mind  in  throwing  him 
rather  irreverently  down  and  rolling  him  in  the  rug,  Mr.  Soap- 
stone  might  have  paid  for  his  temerity  with  his  life.  A  scene  of 
confusion  and  clamor  followed  such  as  had  never  occurred  before. 
The  raps  were  deafening,  several  windows  were  broken,  various 
objects  were  thrown  with  violence.  As  one  of  the  candles  had 
been  extinguished  in  falling  and  the  other  had  been  intentionally 
put  out  by  Mrs.  Cone,  when  the  conflagration  of  the  surplice  was 
arrested,  the  room  remained  in  darkness  except  for  the  moonlight 
shining  in  at  a  side  window.  There  was  much  wild  running 
hither  and  thither  from  purposeless  alarm,  so  that  the  scene  was 
hke  an  incantation  of  witches.  The  pretty  Harriet,  uttering  loud 
exclamations,  did  not  perceive  that  her  gown  was  becoming  slowly 
inflated,  till  it  suddenly  flew  over  her  head.  Shrieking,  she  at- 
tempted to  fly  from  the  room,  but  unable  to  see  where  she  was 
going,  ran  against  Dr.  Patristic,  who  lost  his  balance  and  tumbled 
over  a  chair,  dragging  the  girl  with  him  in  his  fall.  All  the 
Episcopalians,  in  fact,  were  ridiculously  prostrate  ;  Mrs.  Fay  lying 
on  the  sofi  terrified  rather  than  hurt.  Rosamond  sat  on  the 
edge  of  it,  bending  almost  double  with  suppressed  laughter,  and 
over  all  rose  Eddy's  piercing  screams. 

A  loud  knock  was  heard  at  the  front  door,  and  all  other  sounds 
suddenly  ceased. 


462 


ALBAN. 


All  listened.  The  knocking  was  repeated.  It  was  in  vain 
that  Mrs.  Cone,  coming  in  with  a  light,  commanded  now  the  boys, 
now  Harriet,  to  go  to  the  door  and  see  who  was  there.  Such  ter- 
ror had  been  struck  into  every  heart  that  no  one  dared  stir,  till, 
on  the  knock  being  heard  a  third  time,  very  quick  and  impatient, 
Alban.  who  with  Rosamond,  had  been  inquiring  into  her  mother's 
situation,  seeing  that  no  one  else  would,  himself  went  to  the  door. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  stranger,  "  your  horses  have  run  away  with 
your  carriage." 

"  My  horses  !"  exclaimed  Dr.  Patristic.  "  Give  me  my  hat  I 
Soapstone,  the  horses  have  run  away — let's  after  them  at  once  !" 

And  the  rector  of  Yantic,  forgetting  his  fears  and  recent  dis- 
comfiture, rushed  from  the  house,  followed,  with  an  inferior  degree 
of  impetuosity,  by  his  less  interested  assistant. 

"  Won't  you  walk  in,  sir,"  said  Dr.  Cone,  now  advancing  and 
courteously  addressing  the  stranger,  who  still  remained  on  the 
threshold. 

"  Nay,  my  good  sir,"  replied  he,  "  I  have  myself  met  with  a 
misfortune.  The  runaway  equipage  came  violently  in  contact 
with  the  light  wagon  in  which  I  was  just  passing  your  house,  and 
we  find  that  a  bolt  has  been  broken,  which  must  be  repaired  be- 
fore we  can  proceed.  The  young  man  who  is  with  me  has  gone 
on  to  your  neighbor,  the  blacksmith's ;  but  I  do  not  like,  at  this 
hour,  to  trespass  so  long  as  I  may  be  obliged  to  wait." 

A  renewal  of  the  invitation,  and  cordial  assurances  that  it 
would  be  no  intrusion,  overcame  the  stranger's  scruples. 

He  entei  ed  with  a  frank  air,  and  took  a  seat  near  the  stand 
which  had  been  overset,  but  which  was  now  on  its  legs  again,  and 
the  candles  replaced  on  it.  His  appearance  was  rather  prepos- 
sessing. He  wore  a  black  frock-coat  and  black  neckcloth,  not- 
withstanding the  warmth  of  the  weather,  and  had  a  red  ribbon 
round  tVie  neck,  probably  serving"  to  suspend  a  locket,  or  other 
memorial,  in  the  pocket  of  his  waistcoat.  His  thick  black  hair 
was  closely  cut,  and  the  razor  had  not  spared  a  single  vestige  of 
whisker  or  beard,  to  break  the  outhne  of  a  dark  but  regular 


ALBAN. 


463 


physiognomy.  A  piercing  eye  and  a  calm  gravity  about  the 
mouth  gave  him  a  commanding  aspect,  although  the  facial  mus- 
cles were  quite  free  from  the  wooden  sternness  of  New  England, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  take  little  to  relax  his  features  into  a 
smile. 

This  further  appeared  when  he  entered  into  the  usual  topics 
of  conversation,  courteously  started  by  his  hosts,  such  as  the 
weather  and  the  roads,  and  met  their  characteristic  inquiries  as  to 
his  destination  and  motive  for  travelling  so  late  on  Sunday  even- 
ing.   The  stranger  evaded  this  inquisition  with  good  humor. 

"  You  are  bound  to  Yantic,  I  suppose,  sir  ?"  said  Dr.  Cone. 

"  They  say  it  is  a  wise  man  who  knows  whither  he  is  bound  till 
he  arrives  at  the  journey's  end,"  replied  the  traveller,  laughing. 
"  Pray,  sir,  to  return  your  question,  what  place  is  this  ?" 

"  It  is  called  Carmel,"  said  Dr.  Cone. 

"  Carmel  I"  said  the  traveller,  thoughtfully."  "A  name  of 
many  associations.  Was  it  not  at  Carmel  that  the  prophet  Eiias 
defied  the  worshippers  of  Baal  to  a  trial?" 

"  The  prophet  Elijah,"  observed  Dr.  Cone. 

"  Ah,  yes,  Elijah  or  Elias,  I  believe  it*  is  the  same,"  said  the 
stranger,  with  simplicity. 

It  might  be  that  twenty  minutes  thus  elapsed  ere  the  two 
Episcopal  clergymen  returned,  having  abandoned  the  pursuit  of 
the  fugitive  horses  in  person  ;  but  the  rector  had  engaged  a 
countryman  to  follow  and  bring  them  back.  And  while  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Cone  were  yet  offering  a  hospitality  for  the  night — which 
their  guests  perforce  accepted — the  young  man  of  whom  the 
belated  traveller  had  spoken,  returned  with  the  blacksmith  him- 
self, to  say  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  repair  the  accident  of 
the  wagon  before  morning. 

"  I  must  have  daylight  to  do  it,  sir,"  said  the  son  of  Vulcan. 
"  And,  any  way,  I  could  not  get  you  started  before  midnight.  It's 
well  on  towards  eleven,  and  my  fire  is  out." 

"  Good  reasons,  my  friend,"  interrupted  the  stranger.  *'  But 
is  there  a  public  house  in  this  Carmel  ?" 


464 


ALBAN. 


Dr.  and  Mrs.  Cone  consulted  each  other  apart,  and  then  cordially- 
offered  the  stranger  a  bed.  In  retired  places  in  America,  a  passing 
traveller  is  always  welcome,  particularly  if  he  be  intelligent  and 
gentlemanlike  ;  and  in  this  instance,  the  hosts  might  be  conscious 
that  they  were  partly  responsible  for  the  stranger's  mishap  ;  while 
the  fact  that  his  arrival  had  been  marked  by  a  complete  cessation 
of  the  frightful  disturbance  in  their  house,  coupled  perhaps  with  a 
fear  that  it  might  recommence  at  his  departure,  animated  their 
hospitality  still  further,  and  made  them  press  the  offer  with  a 
warmth  to  which  the  traveller,  not  without  surprise,  at  length 
yielded.  The  broken  wagon  Avas  drawn  to  the  smithy,  the  stran- 
ger's horse  received  into  the  doctor's  stable,  his  valise  brought  into 
the  house,  his  travelling  companion  was  accommodated  by  the  smith 
himself,  and  Mrs.  Cone,  bustling  and  cheerful,  got  out  fresh  bed- 
linen,  and  caused  supper  to  be  prepared  for  her  unexpected  guests. 

"  Alban,"  she  whispered  to  our  hero,  "you  must  put  up  with 
the  sofa  for  to-night,  and  resign  your  room  to  Dr.  Patristic  and 
Mr.  Soapstone,  (I  wish  they  were  both  in  Guinea  I)  for  the  strange 
gentleman  must  have  the  little  room,  (the  prophet's  chamber.) 
I  suppose  he  will  be  contested,  as  he  doesn't  seem  difficult." 

The  traveller  had  resumed  his  seat  and  was  fallen  into  a  pro- 
found revcry,  from  which  he  at  length  emerged  only  to  take  a 
book  from  his  pocket  and  settle  himself  quietly  to  read,  saying, 
"  May  I  ask  the  favor,  madam,  to  be  shown  to  the  apartment  you 
intend  for  me,  a  few  minutes  before  supper  ;" — and  forthwith  he 
became  completely  absorbed  in  his  book.  Supper  in  due  time 
was  ready,  the  stranger  was  shown  to  his  room,  and  Rosamond 
Fay,  whose  bright  eyes  had  scarcely  been  taken  off  from  him  since 
he  entered,  immediately  whispered,  turning  to  her  mother  and 
Alban,  "  I  wonder  why  he  wears  that  red  ribbon  round  his  neck." 

When  the  stranger  returned  the  red  ribbon  had  disappeared  ; 
whether  he  had  taken  it  off  or  merely  concealed  it,  could  only  be 
matter  of  speculation.  The  first  thing  on  his  re-entrance,  the 
great  Bible,  now  replaced  on  the  stand,  flew  open,  and  he  started. 
Rosamond  ran  to  read  the  passage  aloud. 


ALB AN . 


46S 


"Oh,  mamma  I  it  is  marked  with  a  red  cross. — Be  not  forget- 
ful to  entertain  strangers,  for  thereby  some  have  entertained 
angels  imatvares.'' 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  that  ?"  asked  the  traveller,  ap- 
proaching- the  book  with  a  frown. 

Rap,  rap,  rap  I    Rap,  rap. 

"What  is  that?" — And  he  started  again.  "Is  the  house 
haunted  ?" 

*'  By  demons,"  said  Alban. 

"  Come  in  to  supper,  sir,"  said  Dr.  Cone,  "  and  we  will  tell 
you  all  about  it." 

And  the  stranger  slowly  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  from  the 
forehead  to  the  breast. 


466 


ALBAN. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Nothing  had  been  said  but  a  brief  grace  by  Dr.  Patristic,  when 
a  Hght-colored,  ghttering  object  fell  heavily  upon  the  table  before 
Mrs.  Fay.  It  was  a  portrait-cameo,  which  she  had  worn  that 
morningf  to  Yantic,  but  had  taken  off  with  the  hat  and  sha^d  on 
her  return.  The  fact  was  that  it  was  a  portrait  of  Lieutenant 
Fay,  and  she  never  wore  it  at  Carmel  from  a  feeling  of  delicacy 
towards  her  sister  and  brother-in-law,  to  whom  her  husband  was 
odious,  in  the  same  way  as  she  avoided  mentioning  his  name  be- 
fore them.  Faintly  blushing,  Mrs.  Fay  took  the  ornament  from 
the  table,  and  attached  it  in  the  usual  manner  of  a  brooch  to  the 
neck-ribbon  of  her  dress. 

"  Whence  came  it  ?"  demanded  the  stranger,  casting  his  eyes 
up  to  the  ceiling. 

"  Twenty  minutes  or  half  an  hour  ago,  sir,  I  locked  it  up  in 
my  trunk,  hi  my  own  room,"  replied  Mrs.  Fay,  quietly.  *'  These 
things  are  of  hourly  occurrence  in  this  house,  sir." 

The  stranger,  who  left  his  plate  untouched,  again  demanded 
an  explanation,  which  could  only  be  afforded  by  narrating  more 
instances  of  the  same  kind.  Piece  by  piece — some  of  the  family 
rather  exaggerating,  others  perhaps  falling  short  of  the  truth — 
the  whole  history  of  the  visitation  came  out.  When  Alban  de- 
scribed (for  the  rest  shunned  that  point)  Mr.  Soapstone's  attempted 
exorcism,  the  stranger  smiled. 

"  Still,"  observed  he,  "  the  principal  object  seems  to  have  been 
gained,  or  why  do  I  not  hear  the  cries  of  the  lad  you  speak  of?" 

A  shriek,  up  stairs,  from  Eddy,  causing  a  general  start  and 
shudder,  answered  the  question  almost  ere  it  had  escaped  the  lips 
of  the  questioner. 

"  Have  you  or  any  of  your  family,"  demanded  the  traveller, 
addressing  Dr.  Cone,  "  ever  sought  intercourse  with  spirits,  by 


ALBAN. 


467 


consulting  fortune-tellers,  or  pytlionists,  (that  is,  persons  having 
familiar  spirits,)  or  pretenders  to  the  second  sight,  or  clairvoyants, 
or  by  using  any  charms  or  divinations  yourselves  ?"  ' 

Dr.  Patristic  and  Dr.  Cone  both  looked  guilty,  and  the  latter 
confessed  to  having  had  to  do  Math  clairvoyants,  but  maintained, 
with  some  warmth,  that  theirs  was  but  a  natural  state  in  which 
the  latent  faculties  of  the  soul  were  extraordinarily  developed. 
Dr.  Patristic  shook  his  head  at  this,  while  the  stranger  replied, 

"So  the  professors  of  magic  have  ever  reasoned.  Every  thing 
real  is  natural  in  one  sense,  but  there  is  a  lawful  order  in  the  ac- 
quisition of  knowledge,  as  well  as  in  other  things.  Our  natural 
senses,  reason,  and  divine  revelation,  are  the  only  legitimate 
sources  of  knowledge.  If,  in  attempting  to  pass  these  limits,  you 
find  yourself  in  the  power  of  demons,  you  have  only  yourself  to 
blame." 

Supper  done,  the  ladies  retired  ;  but  before  the  gentlemen, 
could  follow  their  example,  first  Mrs.  Cone  and  then  Atherton 
were  summoned  by  Rosamond  to  her  mother's  room,  and  presently 
Alban  called  the  whole  family  to  witness  the  singular  exhibition 
there  presented. 

Mrs.  Fay's  table  was  covered  with  a  white  sheet,  arranged  in 
a  peculiar  style,  and  upon  it  were  set  a  pair  of  lighted  candles,  an. 
open  book,  and  a  bowl  of  water.  A  number  of  figures,  in  male 
and  female  attire,  knelt  around  in  various  attitudes  of  devotion — 
one  kneeling  at  the  table  itself,  being  arrayed  in  the  half-burned 
surplice,  bands,  and  stole  of  Mr.  Soapstone.  The  efiect  was 
startling,  and  it  was  difficult  to  believe  they  were  not  real  person- 
ages till  Rosamond,  venturing,  as  usual,  to  approach,  pushed  one 
of  them  over,  with  a  laugh,  and  it  was  seen  that  they  were 
figures  dressed  up  with,  the  aid  of  garments  belonging  to  the 
family. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  any  thing  so  curious  in  your  life?"  said  Dr. 
Patristic,  taking  up  a  figure  dressed  in  a  silk  gown  of  Mrs.  Fay's, 
fitting  more  perfectly,  too,  than  it  ever  did  on  the  fragile  form  of 
its  owner. 


468 


ALBAN . 


But  Harriet,  in  her  good-humored  Irish  way,  going-  to  undress 
this  life-size  doll  before  everybody,  excited  some  merriment,  min- 
gled with  blushing  reproofs  from  the  ladies,  by  showing  that  it 
was  aiTayed  as  scrupulously  in  all  respects  as  one  of  themselves  ; 
and  yet  the  inside  of  all  these  figures  consisted  of  a  few  pieces  of 
household  linen,  and  old  carpet,  and,  wonderful  to  relate — as 
showing  the  inconceivable  quickness  with  which  this  display  had 
been  got  up — in  the  very  centre  of  the  carefully  dressed  one,  rep- 
resenting Mrs.  Fay,  was  found  a  sort  of  crumb-cloth  or  drugget, 
which  had  been  spread  under  the  table  during  supper.  With  one 
rude  shake  they  tumbled  to  pieces. 

The  mixed  wonder,  amusement,  and  strange  surmises  occasioned 
by  this  singular  representation  were  put  to  an  end  by  a  new  and 
startling  incident.  Bridget  came  to  the  door  and  said — "  Please, 
ma'am,  send  some  of  the  gentlemen  here,  for  sure  Eddy  has 
stripped  himself  as  naked  as  the  day  he  was  born,  and  is  a-running 
about  the  house." 

The  screams  of  the  demoniac  boy,  though  only  occasional,  for 
his  strength  seemed  somewhat  exhausted,  impeded  sleep.  Few  in 
the  house  but  listened  awe-struck  on  their  beds.  Dark  and  malig- 
nant was  that  spirit  from  the  deep,  who,  the  first  perhaps  for 
ages,  had  burst  the  restraint  imposed  upon  his  accursed  race,  and 
dared  openly  to  manifest  his  ancient  lust  and  power  of  torment. 
So  at  least  deemed  most  of  those  who  heard  him. 

Alban  had  volunteered  to  sit  up  with  Eddy,  who  could  not 
safely  be  left  alone  for  an  instant,  and  INIr.  Soapstone  charitably 
insisted  on  sharing  his  watch.  Dr.  Patristic  was  at  first  con- 
siderably nervous  about  sleeping  alone  in  the  adjacent  room,  until 
Dr.  Cone,  after  visiting  the  child  for  the  last  time  before  retiring, 
went  in  to  confer  with  the  rector  of  Yantic,  and  these  two  wor- 
thies were  soon  in  deep  conversation  on  the  mysteries  of  the 
spiritual  world.  Atherton  and  the  young  Episcopal  clergyman  in- 
sensibly fell  to  whispering  on  the  same  topic. 

"  My  greatest  difficulty  in  ascribing  these  things  to  diabolical 
agency,"  said  Mr.  Soapstone,  "  is  the  absence  of  apparent  motive. 


ALBAN. 


469 


Satan,  why  should  he  play  such  tricks  ?  They  are  unworthy  the 
prince  of  darkness." 

"  Well,  I  think  there  are  several  clear  marks  of  his  presence," 
returned  the  clear-headed  student  : — "  a  power  above  human  ; 
malice  in  its  use  ;  a  restraint  upon  its  exercise  ;  and  a  general 
tendency  of  the  whole  in  the  long  run  to  glorify  the  Eternal  Ruler 
by  whom  it  is  permitted." 

"  Yet  seems  it  not  strange  even  to  you,  Atherton,  that  these 
infernal  powers  are  permitted  to  defy  and  insult  our  religion  in  any 
form,  to  mock  it  by  sacrilegious  representations?" 

"  Not  stranger  than  that  heretics  are  permitted  to  travesty  the 
priesthood,  the  sacrifice,  and  the  Sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Body,  in 
their  profane  and  perverted  rites.  Is  it  not  enough,"  said  Alban, 
warmly,  "  that  you  impose  your  trumpery  notions  upon  men,  but 
you  expect  the  very  devils  to  revere  the  cheat  I  Earth,  no  doubt, 
has  some  respect  for  solemn  shams  :  Hell  has  none  I" 

Eddy  half  rose  up  and  grinned  horribly.  He  was  but  half- 
clothed,  for  except  by  tying  him  it  was  found  impossible  to  prevent 
his  stripping  off  his  garments.  While  the  family  w^ere  at  supper 
he  had  made  one  desperate  attempt  to  get  into  the  stranger's 
apartment,  but  Bridget  had  fortunately  locked  the  door.  Bridget 
had  shown  the  stranger  to  his  room,  and  after  he  had  left  it  might 
have  been  seen  to  kneel  outside  the  door  and  pray. 

The  young  men  were  about  to  resume  their  conversation,  when 
the  demoniac  again  showed  signs  of  trouble  ;  a  step  was  heard  in 
the  passage  ;  Eddy  made  one  bound  into  the  furthest  corner  of  the 
apartment,  and  the  strange  traveller  entered. 

He  was  not  habited  as  before.  A  coarse,  dark-brown  woollen 
robe,  with  a  long  scapular  hanging  down  before  and  behind, 
flowed  to  his  feet,  uncon fined  even  about  the  waist  by  cord  or 
belt.  The  red  ribbon  was  again  around  his  neck.  Slightly  bow- 
ing to  the  young  men,  he  said,  with  quiet  authority,  "  I  want  to 
see  this  boy,"  and  immediately  approached  the  possessed.  To  the 
astonishment  of  all,  Eddy  broke  forth  in  a  torrent  of  curses  and 
abuse.    It  was  not  loud,  rather  muttered  like  the  rolling  growl  of 

40 


470 


ALBAN . 


some  incensed  animal,  but  such  abominable  oatbs  and  impreca- 
tions, such  a  filthy  stream  of  obscenity  and  blasphemy  never 
issued  from  human  lips. 

"  hninu7idissime  spiritus,tace  I""  said  the  stranger,  laying  his 
hand  firmly  on  the  boy's  crouching  head.  "  In  nomine  Jesu 
Nazareni  adjuro  te'' 

The  boy  spat  in  his  face  and  was  silent.  Eddy  had  naturally 
a  sweet  countenance.  It  was  now  upturned  to  the  stranger's  with 
an  expression  of  revolting-  malignity. 

"  What  is  thy  name  ?"  demanded  the  latter  sternly. 

"  Elias  Walker,"  said  the  boy,  between  his  teeth. 

Albaii  started. 

"  Speak  truth  in  the  name  of  God." 

"  Edward  Fay—" 

"  Remember — in  nomine — " 

"  Legio  .'"  shouted  the  boy  at  the  very  top  of  his  voice. 
"  Is  there  a  cause  wherefore  thou  art  come,  and  what  cause  ? 
I?i  nomine — " 

"  Ask  him''  in  the  same  tone,  and  pointing  to  Atherton  : — 
"him  and  yonder  woman." — The  boy  used  the  coarsest  of  appel- 
latives, and  pointed  with  his  index  finger  in  the  direction  of  Mrs. 
Fay's  apartment. 

"  Speak  truth,"  returned  the  stranger,  *'  as  thou  fearest  Him 
who  is  so  near  us  both." 

The  boy  faintly  clutched  at  the  red  ribbon  which  was  just 
visible  at  the  stranger's  throat,  and  sank  on  the  fl.oor  as  if  sense- 
less. 

The  stranger  slowly  turned  to  the  appalled  witnesses  of  this 
scene,  and  fastened  upon  Alban  his  dark,  penetrating  eyes. 

You  are  a  Catholic,  young  sir  ?  That  good  girl  Bridget  told 
me  you  wanted  to  see  a  priest.  Please  step  into  my  room  for  a 
few  minutes.  This  gentleman  will  not  fear  being  left  alone  with 
the  child." 

The  "  prophet's  chamber,"  in  truth,  had  in  it  little  more  than 
the  Sunamitess  gave  Ehseus: — a  "little  bed,  a  table,  a  stool,  and 


ALB AN . 


471 


a  candlestick."  The  stranger's  large  valise,  to  economize  space, 
had  been  put  beneath  the  table.  On  the  bed  lay  a  fine  Roman 
surplice  and  purple  stole,  which  the  monk,  (as  he  evidently  was,) 
without  asking  Alban  any  further  questions,  immediately  put  on. 
Having  thus  done,  he  seated  himself  in  the  solitary  chair  which 
the  little  apartment  afforded,  and  laying  his  hand  authoritatively 
on  the  table  at  his  side,  said,  "  Kneel  there." 

For  a  moment  the  haughty  blood  rushed  to  Alban's  face,  at 
being  thus  ordered,  but  in  a  moment  the  emotion  had  passed,  and 
the  youth  humbly  knelt,  while  the  monk,  having  murmured,  "  The 
Lord  be  in  thy  heart  and  on  thy  lips," — with  a  rapid  motion  of 
benediction,  added,  in  the  same  tone  of  abrupt  command  as  before, 

"  Say  the  confiteor''' 

Alban  ob(3yed  in  a  tremulous  voice.  The  moment  he  reached 
the  mea  cidjm,  the  stranger  demanded,  shortly,  "  When  were  you 
last  at  confession  ?" 

"  Never,"  replied  Atherton. 

"  Never  ?"  said  the  priest,  slightly  turning  round,  for  he  was 
leaning  with  his  elbow  on  the  table,  and  his  hand  over  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  only  a  convert,  and  have  never  had  an  opportunity  of 
being  received  into  the  Church." 

The  Carmelite  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  then  said  in  a 
kind,  softened  voice, 

"  You -have  been  baptized?" 

"  In  infancy,  by  a  Congregationalist  minister." 

"  Accuse  yourself,  my  son,  with  candor,  but  without  scrupulos- 
ity, of  those  things  in  your  past  life  by  which  you  are  conscious 
of  having  offended  God." 

Alban  continued  on  his  knees  nearly  two  hours.  Unexpect- 
edly as  this  confession  had  come  upon  him  he  was  abundantly  pre- 
pared for  it.  If  he  faltered,  the  priest,  without  appearing  anxious 
that  he  should  proceed,  assisted  his  memory  by  a  quiet,  skilful 
question.  His  tears  wet* the  little  table.  At  length  his  voice  died 
away  in  the  conclusion  of  the  conjiteor,  and  he  covered  his  face 
with  both  hands. 


472 


ALBAN. 


"My  dear  son,"  said  the  moiilf,  "you  have  made  a  confession 
marked,  to  all  appearance,  by  those  qualities  which  are  requisite 
in  a  good  confession — sincerity  and  integrity.  The  humility  you 
have  displayed  cannot  but  call  down  upon  you  the  benediction  of 
the  Almighty,  who  has  said  in  words  familiar  to  your  ears,  / 
divell  tvith  the  man  that  is  of  a  contrite  and  humble  spirit,  and 
to  ivhom  shall  I  have  respect  but  to  him  that  is  poor  and  litth 
and  of  a  contrite  spirit,  and  that  trembleth  at  my  ivords  ?  You 
have  had  your  evils — enough  to  teach  you  that  in  yourself  you  are 
no  better  than  others,  but  with  the  proof  they  have  afforded  you 
of  your  own  frailty,  you  ought  to  be  thankful  that  you  have 
been  kept,  perhaps  by  Providence  as  much  as  by  grace,  from 
that  'foul  and  lavish  act  of  sin'  which,  as  the  poet  says,  inflicts  such 
deep  and  lasting  wounds  on  the  soul.  In  regard  to  what  is  more  re- 
cent— those  violent  inward  temptations  of  which  you  speak — think 
not  too  much  of  them.  The  motions  of  concupiscence  being  nat- 
ural we  cannot  feel  horror  at  them  ;  it  is  sufficient  that  we  refuse 
to  yield,  and  wish  to  be  freed  from  them,  if  it  were  possible.  De- 
spise the  movements  of  your  rebellious  flesh,  which  is  not  and  can- 
not be  subject  to  the  law  of  God,  or  regard  them  only  to  deepen 
your  humility.  Neither  be  over-scrupulous  in  regard  to  inter- 
course with  certain  persons.  You  may  easily  thus  ensnare  your 
conscience.  Preserve  a  right  intention  in  all  things,  and  go  for- 
ward with  a  sweet  and  holy  courage.  Lift  the  eyes  of  your  heart 
above  this  sphere  of  vile  temptations,  and  fix  them  on  the  perfec- 
tions of  your  God.  Meditate,  my  son,  on  the  tender  love  of  the 
Holy  Trinity  for  the  race  of  men  :  the  Father  s  goodness  in  crea- 
ting you,  that  of  the  Son  in  redeeming  you,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
in  effecting  your  sanctification.  Consider  Jesus  Christ  expiring  on 
the  Cross  for  you,  or  lingering  in  the  Blessed  Sacrament  to  be  your 
food  and  victim.  E-emember  that  this  life  must  be  to  you  as  it 
was  to  Him,  one  of  unceasing  conflict,  humiliation,  and  suffering, 
in  order  that  the  life  to  come  may  be  one  of  happiness,  triumph, 
and  rest.  Avoid,  of  course,  all  consent  to  sin,  and  especially  every 
outward  act,  which  of  itself  proves  the  consent  of  the  will ;  but 


ALBAN. 


473 


these  apart,  be  courageous,  calm,  serene,  hopeful,  manly.  Yes  ;  let 
your  piety  be  manly.  You  pray  a  great  deal,  it  seems.  It  is  well ; 
it  is  necessary.  But  remember  that  one  act  of  unfeigned  humility 
is  a  prayer  more  efficacious  than  if  you  recited  the  whole  Breviary 
from  beginning  to  end.  Use  every  means  of  grace,  and  confide 
in  nothing  but  God." 

Alban  felt  a  deep  surprise  at  the  hghtness  of  the  penance 
which  his  strange  confessor  imposed  for  the  sins  of  his  whole  life, 
it  being  only  to  read  the  eighth  chapter  of  the  Third  Book  of  the 
Imitation  of  Christ,  and  add  the  Veni  Creator  to  his  devotions  ; 
both  every  day  for  a  week.  It  was  true  that  he  had  accused 
himself  of  what  were  doubtless  mortal,  though  interior  transgres- 
sions, but  the  shame  and  compunction  which  he  evidently  suffered 
in  thus  laying  bare  the  secrets  of  his  heart,  were  so  great,  that 
what  with  his  innocence  in  the  exterior  point  of  view,  it  v/as  a 
case  for  binding  up  the  wound,  and  pouring  on  the  oil  of  consola- 
tion. The  priest  had  questioned  him  in  regard  to  his  baptism. 
Alban  had  never  doubted  its  validity. 

"  It  may  seem  strange,"  observed  the  monk,  "  that  so  great  a 
gift  as  regeneration,  which  is  the  gate  to  eternal  life,  should  be 
suspended  on  the  right  performance  of  an  external  act  of  this 
kind.  But  it  is  not  more  strange  than  that  the  gift  of  existence, 
which  in  one  sense  is  greater,  (for  unless  we  existed,  we  could  not 
be  regenerate,)  should  be  suspended  on  the  coincidence  of  outward 
circumstances  far  less  solemn.  It  is  necessary  to  a  valid  baptism 
that  the  matter  and  form,  that  is,  the  water  and  the  words,  be 
morally  united,  so  that  w^hile  the  baptizer  is  pronouncing  the  latter, 
he  may  be  fairly  considered  to  wash  the  baptized.  The  sect- 
ministers  generally  have  no  idea  of  matter  and  form  in  a  sacra- 
ment, or  of  the  necessity  of  uniting  them,  and  as  they  generally 
sprinkle,  often  while  the  infant's  head  is  covered  with  a  cap,  it 
may  easily  happen  that  only  a  few  drops  of  water,  too  minute  to 
Jiotv  upon  the  surface,  may  touch  the  child.  Now  that  would 
not  be  baptism.  I  have  seen  even  an  Episcopal  minister  first 
pronounce  the  child's  name,  pour  his  hollow  hand  full  of  water 

40* 


474 


ALB AN. 


upon  its  head,  and  then  say,  I  baptize  thee,  Sj-c :  that  would  not 
be  baptism  either.  In  short,  as  the  shp-shod  notions  of  these  sects 
do  not  permit  them  to  prescribe,  as  the  Church  does,  such  a  man- 
ner of  administering  the  sacrament  as  to  preclude  the  possibility 
of  these  defects,  we  cannot  safely  assume  the  validity  of  their 
baptisms,  and  they  must  be  repeated  as  doubtful,  unless  we  have 
positive  proof  to  the  contrary." 

"  The  two  ladies  in  this  house  were  present  at  my  baptism," 
said  Alban. 

*'  By  all  means,  then,  we  must  question  them  before  proceeding 
further,"  said  the  monk. 

As  soon  as  Alban,  confessed  but  not  absolved,  had  risen  from 
his  knees,  the  monk  said  to  him  with  a  smile, 

"  What  meant  the  evil  spirit  by  referring  me  to  you  and  the 
beautiful  lady  ?  You  know  not  ?  The  enigma  may  be  solved 
one  day.  At  present  we  must  try  the  effect  of  an  exorcism,  for 
which  I  have  a  competent  general  authority.  We  shall  need 
holy  water — real  holy  water.  Will  you  get  me  a  little  salt  and  a 
capacious  bowl." 

Alban  departed  on  this  errand.  The  back  stair  descended 
from  a  room  occupied  by  the  older  boys,  both  of  whom  were  asleep. 
Breathless  quiet  reigned  throughout  the  house.  Just  at  the  land- 
ing of  the  stair  was  a  low  door  opening  into  a  garret-room  where 
the  servant  girls  slept.  As  Alban  passed  it,  he  heard  the  raps, 
not  loud  but  decided.  These  raps  upon  doors  had  been  of  fre- 
quent occurrence,  and  were  always  understood  as  implying  an 
invitation  to  enter,  or  if  it  was  a  closet,  to  open  it.  He  disre- 
garded the  hint  and  went  down  stairs.  Returning  in  about  ten 
minutes  with  a  salt-cellar  and  large  bowl,  he  perceived  the  smell 
of  fire  in  passing  the  same  door,  and  the  raps  were  repeated. 
Having  carried  in  the  articles  to  the  priest,  he  returned  hastily 
and  knocked  at  the  girls'  room.  There  was  no  answer,  and  the 
smell  of  fire  being  now  strong,  he  opened  the  door.  A  dim  lamp 
burning  on  the  floor  discovered  a  slight  smokiness  in  the  air,  yet 
the  two  Irish  girls  slept  profoundly  on  separate  cots.    Since  Eddy 


ALB AN . 


475 


had  ceased  to  scream,  slumber  had  sealed  all  eyes  and  steeped  all 
senses  but  those  of  the  monk  and  Alban.  The  latter  passed  on 
between  the  beds  of  the  girls  to  a  door  in  the  side  of  the  apart- 
ment. This  was  the  room  of  Mrs.  Fay.  A  red  flame  illumined 
it,  proceeding  from  the  bed.  Breathless  he  approached,  lifted  the 
muslin  valance  of  the  white-curtained  bed,  and  lo,  on  tVie  carpet 
a  little  pile  of  kindliugs  all  in  a  light  blaze,  which  already  darted 
its  snake-like  tongues  along  the  hempen  sacking  towards  the  hght 
valance  and  curtains.  Above,  two  soft  faces  lay  still  and  close 
together  on  the  dusky  white  of  the  pillows.  He  touched  Rosa- 
mond ;  she  wakened  her  mother. 

"  Your  bed  is  in  flames — nay,  be  not  alarmed." 

Rosamond's  limbs  gleamed  for  a  moment  in  the  red  light,  as 
she  sprang  out ;  her  mother  ghded  from  the  bed  hke  a  spirit. 
Alban  threw  on  water — what  the  pitchers  contained — then  fling- 
ing the  curtains  within  the  bed,  out  of  reach  of  the  flames  for  the 
moment,  proceeded  to  uncord  the  bedstead.  Meanwhile — more 
thoughtful  of  their  modesty  than  their  safety,  or  that  of  the 
house — the  mother  and  daughter  robed  themselves,  with  palpita- 
ting hearts.  It  seemed  an  age  that  passed  ;  the  valance  was  in 
flames  before  the  bed's  head  was  uncorded.  Alban  stepped  boldly 
on  the  bed,  which  sank  through  upon  the  soaking  carpet,  drew 
the  curtains  quite  out  of  reach  of  the  flames,  which  now  encircled 
him,  and  completed  the  work  of  uncording.  The  fire  beneath 
was  smothered,  the  light  valance  went  out  like  paper,  and  dark- 
ness descended  upon  the  room. 

"  Is  it  Rosamond  ?  Ah,  Mrs.  Fay  !" — The  voice  trembled. — 
"  I  was  trying  to  find  the  door  and  w^ent  the  wrong  way.  I  will 
find  it  now  and  fetch  a  light." 

He  brought  the  lamp  from  the  girls'  room.  Mrs.  Fay  took  it 
:o  light  her  candle.  Her  hand  trembled,  but  her  face  was  calm. 
She  was  already  dressed.     At  least  a  snowy  wrapper  hid  all. 

Rosamond,  my  love,  thank  Mr.  Aiherton," — half  reproach- 
fully, for  the  httle  girl  was  shrinking  behind. 

Rosa,  whose  ringlets  were  in  wild  disorder,  and  her  frock  half 


476 


AL  B AN . 


hooked,  at  her  mother's  word,  sprang  forward,  threw  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him.  Even  a  httle  girl's  warm,  quick 
kiss  seemed  to  embarrass  Atherton.  He  was  retiring,  with  a 
downcast  glance,  when  Mrs.  Fay  detained  him. 

"  Mr.  Atherton,  one  moment  pardon  me.  You  were  speaking 
of  your  baptism  the  other  day.  I  was  then  just  going  to  tell  you 
of  a  dispute,  which  arose  at  the  time,  about  its  vahdity,  hut  sister 
made  me  a  sign  to  hold  my  tongue.  Your  family,  you  know,  was 
of  great  importance  in  Yanmouth  ;  and  as  there  were  several 
Episcopalians  like  ourselves  present  at  your  christening,  we  de- 
scribed the  way  it  was  done  to  our  clergyman,  who  said  it  was  no 
baptism.  He  was  a  terribly  high  churchman,  to  be  sure,  and 
afterwards  turned  Roman  Catholic.  After  what  you  have  done 
for  Rosa  and  me,  I  cannot  keep  from  you  a  fact  which  you  may 
regard  as  important.    When  it  occurred,!  was  just  of  Rosa's  age." 

He  passed  out  between  the  cots  of  the  sleeping  maids,  and 
having  deposited  their  lamp  where  he  found  it,  without  a  glance 
to  the  right  or  the  left,  rejoined  the  monk  in  the  "prophet's 
chamber."  The  Carmelite  hstened,  with  his  piercing  eyes  wide 
open,  to  Alban's  relation. 

"  What  was  the  maiden  name  of  these  ladies  ?  And  yours  is 
Atherton  ?  Is  it  so  indeed  ?  Strange  are  the  ways  of  Provi- 
dence. I  was  that  Episcopal  clergyman,  Mr.  Atherton — now, 
by  the  mercy  of  God,  a  poor  Carmelite.  Well,  we  will  examine 
into  the  matter  more  closely  in  the  morning  ;  but  let  us  now  re- 
turn to  this  demoniac." 

Eddy  was  still  lying  in  the  corner  of  the  chamber  where  he 
had  fallen.  Soapstone  had  thrown  some  clothes  over  him,  and 
had  afterwards  fallen  asleep  himself  in  his  chair.  He  became 
roused  from  his  doze  to  behold  the  grave  Carmelite,  with  book  in 
hand,  and  holding  the  end  of  his  stole  over  the  prostrate  child, 
reciting  rapidly  the  prayers  prescribed  in  the  ritual  for  the  exor- 
cising of  persons  possessed  by  the  devil.  Alban  held  a  light  and 
a  vessel  of  holy  water,  from  which,  at  intervals,  the  exorcist 
sprinkled. 


ALBAN . 


477 


111  the  midst  of  the  third  exorcism,  at  the  words  et  ignis  arch- 
bit  ante  ipsum,  the  boy  threw  off  the  clothes  and  arose.  It  seemed 
that  he  was  going  to  make  a  dash  at  the  holy  water,  but  he  stop- 
ped short,  gazing  at  Atherton  with  a  horrible  look  of  fear.  Thrice 
the  boy  shrieked — an  unearthly  shriek,  a  cry  of  anguish  unutter- 
able, sinking  into  a  deep,  hollow,  vanishing  moan — and  fell  lan- 
guidly. The  priest  caught  him.  They  all  together  raised  and 
laid  him  on  the  bed. 


478 


AL  BAN . 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Day  has  dawned.  Minute  crimson  clouds — the  avant  gardes  of 
the  sun — floated  in  a  sky  clear  as  a  bell.  The  glittering  plume 
of  the  morning  star  trembled,  to  speak  poetically,  in  the  rosy 
East.  Dewy  were  the  plains  ;  misty  and  dark  blue  the  hills. 
The  cock,  as  the  old  epopee  would  not  fail  to  notice,  crowed  in  the 
farm-yard  ;  the  horse  already  cropped  the  June  meadow  with 
crunchirig  teeth  and  snuffling  nostril ;  the  fresh-breathed  maids 
came  forth  with  their  milk-pails  from  the  brown  farm-houses. 

In  Catholic  countries  the  Angelus  bell  would  invite  to  prayer 
and  the  tapers  kindle  on  the  altar  for  early  mass,  whither  the 
laborer  would  repair  to  sanctify  the  day  by  assisting  at  the  morn- 
ing oblation.  The  Church  loves  early  hours.  Protestants  delight 
in  the  sentimental  witchery  of  evening,  in  the  exquisite  languor 
of  sunset,  the  unreal  charm  of  moon  and  stars  throughout  the 
year.  They  enjoy  "  night  services,"  with  bright  gas-light,  and 
crowds  like  a  theatre,  and  a  fervent  preacher,  soothing  and  exci- 
ting at  the  same  time  an  exhausted  nervous  system.  The  religion 
which  begins  and  ends  in  feeling  is  necessarily  so  ;  but  a  rehgion 
of  practice  cannot  thus  arrange  itself,  because  the  evening  being 
followed,  not  by  action  but  repose,  whatever  impression  could  be 
made  at  this  unseasonable  hour,  would  pass  away  without  fruit. 
Compline,  which  is  the  last  sweet  and  brief  office  of  the  day  in 
the  Roman  Church,  and  never  varies  in  more  than  a  few  words, 
a  hallelujah  in  the  Paschal  time,  a  doxology  on  the  feasts  of  the 
Lord — Compl'hie  is  supposed  to  conclude  ere  the  last  fading  of 
the  vesper  twilight.  In  practice  it  is  said  much  earlier.  Catholic 
priests  almost  universally  rise  early,  and  are  engaged  in  the  duties 
of  their  calling,  personal  and  public,  for  hours  ere  Protestant  min- 
isters quit  their  conjugal  beds.  The  moral  influence  of  this  early 
activity,  in  the  long  run,  is  iacalculable.    His  heart  is  not  easily 


ALBAN. 


479 


made  impure  by  the  foul  illusions  of  a  bloated  sensuality,  who 
rises  before  light  to  meditate  and  pray.  That  first  victory  over 
sloth  fortifies  the  will  ;  the  cool  breath  of  morn  assuages  the  fever 
of  concupiscence ;  and  the  matin  worshipper  feels  upon  his  soul  a 
cooler  breath,  from  the  Eternal  Mount,  imparting  to  it  an  ada- 
mantine temper,  against  which  the  edge  of  temptation  is  quickly 
turned. 

The  wagon-bolt  was  replaced  by  sunrise,  and  the  monk's  com- 
panion waited  for  him  at  the  gate.  In  the  little  chamber  a  pair 
of  candles  stood  lighted  on  the  table,  whereon  a  narrow  white 
cloth  was  spread.  The  priest  took  from  a  sort  of  wallet  of  silk, 
having  a  red  ribbon  attached,  a  square  piece  of  linen,  which  he 
spread,  and  a  silver  case  resembling  a  locket.  He  opens  the 
latter  ;  he  adores,  kneehng  ;  he  lifts  the  sacred  victim  of  salva- 
tion. Alban.  and  the  girl  Bridget  are  kneeling,  and  he  communi- 
cates the  latter.  He  adores  again  ;  he  closes  the  pix,  replaces  it, 
with  the  corporal  and  purificatory,  in  the  bursa,  and  passes  the 
ribbon  round  his  neck. 

It  was  a  question  whether  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Cone  would  permit 
their  house  to  be  blessed,  and  holy- water  to  be  sprinkled  through 
the  rooms  as  a  defence  against  the  future  incursions  and  return  of 
the  demons  ;  if,  indeed,  the  quiet  which  had  continued  since  the 
exorcism  of  Eddy,  intimated  their  effectual  expulsion.  Father 
Xavier,  (such  was  his  name  in  religion,)  refused  to  do  any  thing 
wi'thout  the  express  permission  of  his  hosts.  The  fear  of  being 
burned  in  their  beds  overcame  the  repugnance  which  they  natu- 
rally felt  to  avail  themselves  of  his  assistance.  At  their  formal 
request,  he  passed  from  room  to  room,  reciting  the  appointed 
prayers,  and  sprinkling  the  element  which  the  Church  blesses  with 
the  expressed  intention  that  "  whatever  in  the  houses  or  abodes 
of  the  faithful  this  leave  shall  sjyrinkle,  may  he  free  from  all 
impurity,  be  delivered  from  harm  ;  tJuit  no  pestilent  spirit  may 
reside  there,  nor  corrupting  air  :  that  all  the  snares  of  the  latent 
enemy  may  depart  ;  and  if  there  is  any  thing  ivhich  is  hostile 
either  to  the  safety  or  the  quiet  of  the  inhabitants,  by  the  asper- 


480 


ALBAN . 


sion  of  this  water,  it  may  flee  away  :  that  the  salubrity  which 
is  sought  by  the  invocation  of  Thy  holy  name,  may  be  defended 
from  all  assaults'' 

They  came  upon  Dr.  Patristic  snoring  in  bed  in  spite  of  the 
sunhght  streaming  betwixt  the  half-open  shutters,  and  hallowed 
the  room  without  disturbing  his  slumbers. 

The  astonishment  and  displeasure  of  Mrs.  Cone  were  great  when 
her  departing  guest  declined  to  break  his  fast.  He  had  not  tasted 
their  salt ;  he  had  not  even  pressed  the  couch  provided  for  him. 
He  assured  her  that  he  was  accustomed  to  vigils  ;  and  as  for 
taking  food  ere  his  departure,  he  regretted  to  decline  the  hospitable 
offer,  but  decline  it  he  must,  since  his  first  duty  at  Yantic  would 
be  to  say  mass  for  the  small  colony  of  Irish  laborers  and  servant 
girls,  whom  the  factories  had  collected  around  the  Falls  of  the  old 
Indian  river. 

Good  Mrs.  Cone  was  further  astonished  and  afflicted  to  find 
that  Alban  was  going  to  accompany  the  priest.  The  questions  in 
regard  to  his  baptism  next  came  up  and  made  her  dart  a  reproving 
glance  at  the  blushing  Mrs.  Fay. 

*'  Nay,"  said  the  grave  Carmelite,  "  I  myself  remember  some- 
thing. Have  you  quite  forgotten  an  old  friend,  Mrs.  Cone  ?  Time 
has  altered  us  both,  but  I  can  retrace  the  laughing  Fanny  Cleveland 
in  my  sedate  hostess." 

"  Mr.  Hewley  I"  cried  Mrs.  Cone,  blushing  as  vividly  as  her 
sister. 

"  And  how  about  this  young  man's  baptism  ?"  said  the  monk. 

Mrs.  Cone  brought  out  a  new  feature  of  the  case.  Old  Mrs. 
Atherton,  Alban's  grandmother,  had  been  annoyed  at  the  talk, 
and  had  got  his  uncle,  the  bishop,  to  make  all  right,  as  she 
deemed,  in  private.  Mrs.  Cone  herself,  then  an  Episcopalian,  had 
been  godmother,  and  her  brother,  a  clergyman  and  the  bishop's 
chaplain,  had  been  godfather,  when  Dr.  Grey  baptized  his  great- 
nephew  in  the  old  Yanmouth  church  on  a  week-day  Festival,  and 
in  the  old  marble  font  taken  with  the  bell  from  the  Spaniards. 
This  was  just  after  Mr.  Hewley  resigned  the  parish,  and  when 


A  L  13  A  N  . 


481 


the  child  was  about  eighteen  months  old.  Mr.  Cleveland  read  the 
Church  service,  and  the  Bishop  baptized  the  child  after  the  second 
lesson,  although,  except  old  Mrs.  Atherton,  the  two  clergymen,  and 
the  narrator,  not  a  soul  was  present.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Cleveland 
was  since  dead. 

"  I  don't  care  if  they  read  the  whole  prayer-book,"  said  the 
monk,  "  or  if  the  church  was  empty  or  crowded.  All  I  want 
to  know  is  how  the  bishop  performed  the  simple  act  of  baptism." 

"  Oh,  sir,  he  did  not  use  the  conditional  form,  1  remember, 
because  the  bishop  considered  all  Presbyterian  baptism  invalid." 

"  That  was  a  heresy.  But  did  Bishop  Grey  use  much 
water  ?" 

"  The  hand  brimming  full,"  said  Mrs.  Cone,  affecting  to  pour 
from  her  hollow  hand  as  from  a  cup.  "  The  quantity  of  water 
made  Master  Alby  cry  lustily.  When  I  took  him  back  from  the 
bishop,  his  fine  light  hair  was  wet  enough  to  drip,  and  it  ran  all 
into  his  neck.  1  shall  not  soon  forget  it.  For  he  was  a  year  old 
at  least." 

So  far  is  highly  satisfactory,"  said  Father  Xavier,  glancing 
at  Alban.  "  One  point  more  remains,  and  it  is  one  of  great 
delicacy  as  well  as  importance.  At  what  moment  did  the  bishop 
pour  all  this  quantity  of  water,  or  did  he  pour  it  thrice  ?" 

"  Only  once,  I  am  sure,  or  I  should  have  noticed  it,"  responded 
Mrs.  Cone.  "  He  poured  it,  I  presume,  while  he  was  pi-onoun- 
cing  the  words.  The  child  cried  so  that  I  thought  of  nothing  else 
at  the  time  but  that  flood  of  water  which  the  bishop  scooped 
out  of  the  old  font.  No  doubt  Bishop  Grey  did  every  thing  as 
it  ought  to  be  done,  sir.    A  bishop,  sir  !  of  course  I" 

"The  truth  is,"  said  Father  Xavier,  as  Alban  and  he  drove 
away  from  Dr.  Cone's  gate,  "  evidence  is  worth  little  after  so  much 
time  has  lapsed,  unless  the  witness  had  her  attention  called  par- 
ticularly to  the  point." 

"  And  am  I  still  to  remain  suspended  thus  between  heaven 
and  earth,  not  knowing  whether  I  am  a  Christian  or  not  ?"  asked 
Alban,  with  a  painful  smile. 

41 


482 


AL  B  AN 


"  Through  no  fault  of  Holy  Church,  my  son.  It  would  sim- 
plify the  matter  very  much  if  we  could  say  that  all  baptisms  out 
of  the  Church  are  invalid.  But  the  Church  never  seeks  simpli- 
city at  the  expense  of  truth.  Sometimes  an  adherence  to  truth 
may  involve  her  in  perplexities  which  others  do  not  feel  ;  but  she 
is  patient,  and  in  the  end  order  is  developed  under  her  unerring 
hand  out  of  the  most  intricate  seeming  confusion." 

"To  be  baptized  three  times  is  very  repugnant  to  my  feel- 
ings," said  Atherton. 

Father  Xavier  would  say  no  more  until  they  should  again  be 
alone.  The  missionary  (for  although  merely  on  a  visit  to  his 
native  country,  the  monk  was  discharging  the  duties  of  an  ordi- 
nary priest  of  the  mission)  heard  a  number  of  confessions  at 
Yantic,  said  mass,  and  baptized  some  children.  At  length  Alban 
was  alone  with  him  in  the  humble  room  overlooking  the  Falls, 
where  the  temporary  altar  had  been  erected.  The  young  convert 
again  knelt,  and  added  some  brief  words  to  his  previous  confession. 

"  Think  not  of  these  things,"  said  the  priest,  who  in  the  con- 
fessional seemed  another  person.  "  Without  grace  it  is  impossible 
not  to  fall.  Satan  throws  these  seeming  opportunities  and  sugges- 
tions in  your  way  to  tempt  you  partly,  and  partly  to  make  you 
despair  of  God's  goodness.  If  you  had  really  had  the  opportunity 
of  committing  the  sin  which  you  say  was  suggested  to  you,  probably 
in  your  present  state  of  mind,  you  would  have  repelled  it  with 
horror,  or  at  least  with  decision.  The  real  impossibility  made  it 
seem  to  you  as  if  you  consented.  It  was  an  illusion  of  the  devil, 
who  is  always  ready  to  afflict  us  in  that  way  if  God  permits. 
You  have  made  a  good  and  sincere  confession,  I  am  very  sure, 
and  the  Church  cannot  mean  that  you  should  make  it  fruitlessly. 
She  cannot  withhold  from  you  the  grace  of  which  she  is  the  dis- 
penser. I  really  think  it  probable  that  you  have  been  baptized, 
and  I  shall  therefore  absolve  you,  on  the  invariable  condition  of  so 
far  as  you  need  and  I  am  able.  You  must  write  to  your  right- 
reverend  uncle,  and  if  his  answer  be  satisfactory,  you  will  need 
only  to  have  the  ceremonies  supplied,  and  you  can  go  to  commu- 


ALB AN . 


483 


nion  at  once.  But  whatever  his  answer  may  be,  you  will  never 
be  obliged  to  repeat  this  confession.  Remember  that.  For  if"  you 
have  been  baptized,  the  absolution  you  are  about  to  receive  will 
be  good,  and  if  you  have  not  been  baptized,  no  absolution  what- 
ever will  be  necessary.  Does  this  meet  your  wishes,  my  dear  son  ? 
It  is  just  the  ordinary  case  of  receiving  absolution,  but  deferring 
communion.  Bow  your  head,  then,  and  renew  your  contrition 
for  all  the  sins  of  your  life." 

In  a  moment  it  was  over,  and  the  sins  of  Alban's  youth  had 
passed  away,  we  may  believe,  like  darkness  at  the  entrance  of  a 
bright  light,  and  his  star-like  soul,  formed  to  know  and  love  its 
Creator,  shone  once  more  in  the  sight  of  the  angels,  brighter  than 
Hesperus,  or  Lucifer,  with  the  glorious  beams  of  sanctifying  grace. 
Hell  had  failed  with  all  its  arts. 


484 


A  L  r>  A  N  . 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

In  July  Alban  visited  New  Haven  by  special  permission,  to  attend 
the  final  examinations  of  his  class.  He  was  almost  forgotten.  The 
class  feeling  was  already  dissolving.  College  had  sunk  into  its 
true  place,  and  men  had  their  eye  on  the  world.  There  was  talk 
of  keeping  up  old  friendships,  but  it  was  mere  talk.  The  Popery 
excitement  had  died  a  natural  death.  The  President  received 
Atherton  kindly,  and  informed  him  that  he  would  be  allowed  to 
deliver  his  oration.  This  great  honor,  so  long  anticipated  and  the 
cause  of  so  many  heart-burnings,  seemed  now  a  very  small  affair. 
Alban  loved  his  alma  mater,  and  that  iron  New  England  of  which 
it  was  the  intellectual  representative,  but  he  had  taken  the  dimen- 
sions of  them  both.  In  all  this  ancestral  land  of  his,  and  in  its 
university,  not  one  thinker  was  to  be  found  who  dared  maintain 
that  the  human  will  was  truly  self-determinant,  or  who  deemed 
that  grace  had  any  other  office  than  to  compel  the  affections. 

"  Oh  glorious  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God  I"  he  exclaimed,  as 
he  walked  under  the  endless  arbors  of  the  grove-like  Academe, 
"  you  are  here  unknown  I" 

The  rustication  was  now  at  an  end,  and  Alban  might  have 
gone  where  he  pleased  ;  but  he  returned  to  Carmel  to  write  his 
oration.  His  mother,  whose  health  was  delicate,  was  spending 
the  summer  with  their  relatives  at  Yantic,  and  he  wished  to  be  at 
least  in  her  vicinity  ;  for  it  was  not  pleasant  either  for  Alban  or 
the  Athertons,  to  associate  much,  his  apostasy  from  the  New  En- 
gland, or  rather  from  the  family  faith,  rendered  him  so  odious.  He 
frequently  drove  down  to  the  Falls  with  Mrs.  Cone  or  Rosamond 
Fay,  and  once  they  penetrated  as  far  as  Yanmouth,  where  Alban 
paid  a  visit  to  the  "  castle,"  which  had  been  sold,  modernized,  and 
new  furnished.  But  the  stone-bound,  iron-gray  hills,  and  broad, 
breeze-ruffled  waters  were  unchanged,  and  the  white,  massive 


ALLAN . 


485 


brick  pillars,  black,  many-sloped  roof,  and  slirubberied  terraces 
of  the  old  Atherton  house,  still  commanded  the  town  and  bay  and 
fort-crowned  heights. 

At  length  the  seniors'  six  weeks  were  over,  and  from  the  open 
window  of  his  chamber  Alban  watched  for  the  last  time  the  sun 
set  upon  the  table-land  of  Carmel.  The  fiery  orb  sank  behind  the 
low  blue  ridge-line  of  the  remote  hills  as  beneath  the  rim  of  ocean. 

It  grew  dark  :  the  sounds  of  evening  began  to  be  heard  ;  the 
katydid  and  the  cricket  made  a  concert ;  the  fire-flies  sparkled  on 
the  dusky  green  ;  a  bat  flew  back  and  forth  under  the  leafy  but- 
ton-balls. 

The  student's  revery  was  broken  by  the  entrance  of  a  maid 
to  perform  certain  neat  duties  about  his  room.  It  was  the  pretty 
Harriet.  Alban  spoke  to  her  in  a  kind  tone,  slightly  tinctured 
with  gayety.  She  laughed,  and  busied  herself  with  filling  his 
pitcher,  and  setting  in  order  his  wash-stand.  He  turned  again 
to  the  embrowned  landscape  and  faded  sky.  Presently  the  girl 
sobbed.  The  young  man  took  no  notice  till  just  as  she  was  about 
to  leave  the  room,  when  he  called  her  to  him. 

"  Harriet,"  said  he,  "  of  all  the  people  in  this  house  who  have 
seen  the  wonderful  works  of  God  in  it,  you  are  the  only  one  who 
has  been  led  to  faith.  They  laugh  at  you  and  call  you  a  fool ; 
they  say  other  things  harder  yet  for  a  young  woman  to  bear.  I 
have  never  spoken  to  you  much.  Now  I  am  going  away.  What 
will  you  do  when  you  leave  this  house  ?  Will  you  go  straight 
forward  and  do  your  duty  ?  It  will  be  a  hard  struggle  for  your 
pride — to  '  turn,'  as  they  say." 

"  I  will  never  die  what  I  am,"  said  Harriet,  weeping. 

"  Ah,  Hatty  !  if  you  live  what  you  are,  it  may  not  be  in  your 
choice  what  you  will  die." 

"  I  know  it,  sir." 

"  Is  it  so  hard  to  give  up  your  little  world  ?  In  your  rank  of 
life,  Hatty,  a  pretty  face  and  person  expose  to  great  temptations  : 
how  will  you  resist  them  when  your  conscience  all  the  while  tells 
you  that  you  have  turned  your  back  on  grace  and  Heaven  ?  Are 

41* 


486 


ALB AN . 


you  not  afraid  that  God  will  punish  you  by  letting  you  be  drawn 
into  sin  and  shame  by  those  very  persons  whose  opinion  yon  fear  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir,"  cried  the  girl,  with  a  toss  of  the  head,  "I  have  no 
fear  of  that.    I  am  above  that,  I  hope." 

"  None  of  us  is  above  any  kind  of  wickedness,  Hatty — if  God 
lets  us  fall." 

The  girl  applied  the  corner  of  her  apron  to  her  eyes  and  cried 
again.  The  youth  glanced  at  her  as  she  stood  near,  but  indistinct, 
in  the  dusky  chamber,  and  then  he  looked  away  again  into  the 
sparkling  summer  night,  the  warm  breath  whereof  came  in  at  the 
casement.  Hatty  was  doubtless  just  as  attractive  to  the  senses  as 
if  she  had  been  a  lady — perhaps  more  so.  The  bat  which  had 
been  flitting  under  the  trees  flew  suddenly  in  at  the  open  window. 

"  So  flies  the  evil  one  into  the  heart,"  thought  Alban,  looking 
round  again.  "  Go,  Hatty,"  he  added  aloud,  and  in  a  composed 
manner.  "  You  will  be  as  good  a  girl,  I  hope,  when  next  we 
meet,  as  I  believe  you  are  now.  Only  remember  as  my  last 
words,  that  it  is  safer  to  fear  our  weakness  than  to  rely  upon  our 
strength." 

Hatty  departed  from  him  ;  the  youth  knelt  at  his  chair,  and 
the  swift-circling  bat  flew  out  like  a  winged  shadow. 

"How  degrading,"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  rising,  "  to  feel 
these  coarse  external  temptations  I  A  ruby  lip  and  springing 
waist — can  they  allure  him  whose  cleansed  vision  beholds  the 
dread  realities  of  faith  ?  And  yet  it  is  well  for  me  to  have  some- 
thing positive  and  tangible  to  conquer.  Haply  a  victory  here, 
though  inglorious,  may  arm  me  for  the  subtle  conflict  which  is  all 
fought  witliiri.  Those  infinite  suggestions  of  forbidden  pleasure  in 
the  sweetest  guise,  and  seemingly  so  pure, — shall  they  never  end  ? 
How  hopeless,  then,  to  struggle,  since  I  cannot  hope  always  to 
stand  I" — The  winged  shadow  flew  in  once  more,  unseen. — "Yet 
let  me  fall  fighting.  0  Michael,  Prince  of  the  heavenly  hosts, 
come  to  my  assistance." — Again  the  bat  darkened  the  casement 
as  it  flew  out. 

There  was  a  light  tap  at  the  door  ;  he  sung  out  "  Come  in," 


ALB AN. 


487 


and  little  Rosamond  Fay  entered.  Rosamond  was  clad  in  deep 
black.  Albau  sighed,  kissed  her  forehead,  and  taking  her  hand, 
led  her  down  into  the  piazza. 

Something  supernatural  lingered  to  the  last  about  the  old  house 
in  Carmel.  They  say  that  strange  noises  are  heard  in  it  yet, 
particularly  at  night,  and  in  certain  chambers.  The  night  that 
Alban  slept  there  last,  a  certain  wild  inarticulate  cry  began  soon 
after  the  family  had  retired,  and  never  ceased  till  he  was  gone. 

In  a  few  days,  our  hero  arrived  with  his  mother  in  New 
Haven,  where  his  father  was  already  installed  at  the  Tontine. 
The  beautiful  little  city  was  full  of  strangers.  The  graduating 
class  gave  a  ball.  The  Phi  Beta  gave  a  dinner.  Commencement 
day  came,  all  music  and  orations,  a  church  full  of  black  coats 
and  gay  bonnets,  degrees  tied  with  blue  ribbons,  youths  wearing 
mysterious  society  badges,  and  more  valedictories  said  than  were 
pronounced  from  the  carpeted  platform,  where  sat  and  listened, 
with  unwearied  gravity,  the  elders  of  New  England. 

It  is  not  often  that  a  commencement  oration  attracts  much 
attention,  except  for  the  fifteen  minutes  which  it  may  occupy  in 
delivery.  Atherton's  was  one  of  the  exceptions  which  now  and 
then  strike  between  wind  and  water,  and  hold  such  an  audience 
as  he  had,  profoundly  interested  from  first  to  last.  The  subject — 
"  The  Necessity  of  Patience" — had  already  excited  curiosity, 
augmented  by  the  whispers  floating  about  in  relation  to  the  singu- 
lar opinions  of  the  author.  A  nearly  beardless  youth,  loosely  and 
scholastically  attired  in  black  summer  cloth,  with  the  golden  sym- 
bols of  the  <$>.  B.  K.  and  X.  A.  0.  glittering  on  his  watch-guard, 
and  the  badge  of  the  Brothers'  on  his  breast,  stood  in  the  circle — 
the  triple,  chaired  corona — of  gray-beards,  bald  intellectualities, 
and  reverend  white  cravats.  Two  things  struck  people  in  Ather- 
ton's oration,  its  life-like  reality  and  the  absence  of  ornament  in 
the  style.  The  matter  was  important  and  oi  iginal  ;  the  manner 
simplicity  itself,  showing  that  he  had  studied  only  to  make  his 
meaning  perspicuous.  And  yet  the  peroration  was  highly  rhe- 
torical. It  was  almost  impassioned,  aS  the  words  of  a  human  being 


488 


ALBAN. 


speaking  from  a  deep  personal  experience  and  sustained  by  an  in- 
vincible faith. 

The  conferring  of  degrees  was  an  imposing  ceremony,  particu- 
larly when  the  President  put  on  his  hat.  Any  thing  symbolic  is 
so  rare  in  New  England  that  it  never  fails  to  impress.  The  only 
want  which  our  hero  felt  at  the  time  arose  from  the  absence  of  the 
De  Groots,  Mary,  it  was  understood,  was  in  a  convent — but 
whether  as  a  boarder  or  a  postulant  no  one  exactly  knew,  and 
her  parents  were  at  the  Virginia  Springs. 

Henry  Atherton  was  to  be  married  the  day  after  commence- 
ment, and  Alban  was  to  be  one  of  the  grooms-men,  but  such  was 
the  hurry  of  all  parties  that  he  could  learn  little  about  the  ar- 
rangements except  the  necessary  particulars  of  time  and  place. 

The  day  before  commencement,  going  from  the  hotel  to  the 
colleges  on  an  errand  connected  with  his  graduation,  our  hero  had 
walked  behind  a  party  of  some  distinction,  attended  by  Professor 

S  .    Alban  hated  to  pass  people,  and  accommodated  himself 

to  their  leisurely  pace.  In  advance  with  the  Professor  walked  a 
large,  middle-aged  matronly  lady,  with  an  imposing  gait,  and  who 
talked  a  good  deal.  Behind  them,  an  officer  in  the  undress  uni- 
form of  the  army,  gallanted  a  young  lady  of  an  exquisite  figure,  in 
rose-colored  muslin  and  a  white  bonnet,  managing  with  much 
grace  a  rose-and- white  parasol.  She  was  like  a  bouquet  in  motion 
under  the  mighty  elms.  The  bronzed  profile  of  her  companion 
was  often  turned  to  her,  and  she  answered  the  movement  by  a 
corresponding  one,  but  that  provoking  crape  bonnet  hid  her  fea- 
tures. 

When  Alban  had  finished  his  business  at  the  colleges,  he 
strayed  into  the  Trumbull  Gallery,  to  take  another  last  look  at 
the  pictures  which  he  had  once  admired,  and  the  same  party  were 

there.    But  Professor  S          had  quitted  them,  and  the  officer 

was  sitting  by  the  matronly  lady,  while  the  graceful  wearer  of 
the  rose  dress  sauntered  round  the  room  by  herself,  with  a  cata- 
logue. Atherton  observed  her.  She  stopped  longest  before  the 
very  pictures  which  interested  him  ;  and  at  the  portrait  of  Wash- 


ALBAN. 


489 


ington,  bent  down  twice  to  read  the  names  of  the  donors.  Still  he 
could  not  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  until,  upon  her  friends  calling 
her  to  come  away,  she  turned  back  at  the  door  of  the  inner  room, 
and  gave  him  a  perfect  view  of  her  features.  They  were  the 
sweetest  mixture  of  fairness  and  bloom  he  had  ever  beheld — deep 
violet  eyes,  golden  brown  hair,  with  a  fall  of  ringlets  about  the 
white  throat ;  a  nose,  mouth,  and  chin  indicative  of  character, 
vivacity,  tenderness,  and  purity.  She  caught  the  student's  ad- 
miring glance,  blushed,  and  hastily  joined  her  friends. 

In  leaving  the  church  with  his  father  and  mother,  after  the 
exercises  were  over  on  commencement  day,  he  again  saw  this 
party,  somewhat  in  advance.  The  gentleman  and  older  lady 
looked  back  on  this  occasion — and  at  him,  he  thought — as  if  they 
meant  to  stop  and  speak  ;  but  after  some  hesitation,  they  pro- 
ceeded without  doing  so.  Their  way  was  the  same,  and  at  last 
they  all  entered  the  Tontine,  at  the  ladies'  door.  Alban  hoped, 
with  reason,  to  see  the  beautiful  face  again  a-t  tea. 

He  was  not  disappointed,  for  the  ladies  and  their  naval  com- 
panion came  to  the  tea-table  and  sat  opposite  them.  The  young 
lady,  unbonneted,  was  lovelier  still,  for  her  head  was  perfectly 
classic,  and  the  light  summer  evening  toilet  showed  a  neck  and 
shoulders  not  less  finely  formed,  and  of  dazzling  whiteness.  The 
purity  and  even  bloom  of  her  complexion  yielded,  as  it  were,  to 
a  visible  blush  the  moment  that  her  eye  rested  on  Alban;  nor 
did  she  quite  recover  from  the  suffusion  while  the  brief  sunset 
repast  lasted.  After  tea,  while  his  father  and  mother,  worn  out 
with  the  excitement  and  fatigue  of  the  day,  retired  to  their  own 
room,  he  went  into  the  general  parlor  of  the  Tontine.  The  same 
party  were  there,  grouped  in  a  window  that  looked  upon  the 
green.    The  officer  immediately  advanced  towards  him. 

"Mr.  Atherton,  I  believe?" — Of  course,  any  body  who  had 
been  at  commencement  knew  his  name. — "  There  is  a  young 
lady  here  who  says  she  has  a  right  to  be  acquainted  with  you, 
Mr.  Atherton." 

Alban  went  forward,  wondering  and  not  a  little  fluttered,  not- 


490 


AL  B AN . 


withstanding  his  being  now  so  used  to  ladies.  She  extended  her 
hand  with  maidenly  frankness  and  a  look  of  afiectionate  archness, 
quite  irresistible. 

"  You  have  forgotten  your  cousin  Jane,  Alban?" 

"  Jane  I    Is  it  possible  that  you  are  Jane  I" 

He  embraced  her,  and  she  drew  back  confused,  whereupon 
the  elder  lady,  who  was  her  aunt,  observed  with  a  smile  that  Jane 
and  her  cousin  had  been  brought  up  like  brother  and  sister.  He 
found  that  Jane  was  to  be  one  of  the  bridemaids  on  the  morrow. 

"  We  shall  stand  up  together,"  said  Alban,  "  I  owe  Hal  a 
turn  for  not  telling  me  of  this,  nor  even  that  you  were  here." 

We  arrived  but  yesterday,"  said  Jane,  "  and  it  has  been  such 
a  busy  day." 

Moreover  Jane  had  promised  to  accompany  Henry  and  his 
bride  on  their  wedding-tour,  (Niagara,  of  course,)  and  the  grooms- 
men were  to  be  of  the  party.  It  is  a  custom  yet  in  the  States, 
and  often  makes  one  wedding  the  fruitful  parent  of  several  others. 

We  intend  not  to  enter  into  the  details  of  this  interesting  ex- 
cursion ;  the  transitions  from  the  shady  steamboat  deck,  on  the 
noble  river,  to  the  flying  rail-car  that  pierces  the  beautiful  valleys  ; 
the  walks  from  lock  to  lock  in  the  deep  cuttings  of  the  great  canal, 
still  used  for  travel ;  rocking  on  the  seat  of  an  American  stage, 
hanging  over  waterfalls,  gazing  at  mountains  and  lakes  by  moon- 
light, drinking  Spa  waters  from  bubbling  fountains  before  break- 
fast, rolling  nine-pins,  satisfying  keen  young  appetites  at  plentiful 
tables,  dancing  in  the  evening  saloons  at  the  Springs.  We  may 
suppose  that  Jane  had  heard,  from  time  to  time,  of  Alban's  college 
distinctions,  and  that  she  was  not  insensible  to  the  romance  of 
their  meeting.  She  had  listened  to  his  beautiful  oration  with 
pride  ;  she  was  making  her  first  summer  journey  as  a  young  lady 
in  his  company,  and  although  young,  "  Alban  was  a  graduate, 
and  a  graduate  was  a  Man." 

But  at  an  early  period  of  the  tour,  Jane  became  aware  that  a 
great  change  had  taken  place  in  her  cousin.  The  day  on  which 
they  were  steaming  up  the  Highlands  was  the  first  of  the  discov- 


ALB AN . 


491 


ery.  The  immense  boat — not  three  hundred  feet  long  indeed, 
like  those  which  now  ply  on  the  same  river,  but  able  to  accom- 
modate some  eight  hundred  passengers — was  moving  with  scarcely 
a  perceptible  jar  in  its  huge  frame  at  a  speed  of  nearly  eighteen 
miles  an  hour,  against  the  broad  stream,  shut  in  like  a  lake  by 
green  hills,  under  a  sky  of  motionless  cumuli  and  deep  blue. 
They  sat  on  the  promenade  deck,  with  perhaps  a  hundred  others, 
all  forming  little  circles  apart,  keeping  carefully  beneath  the 
awning,  and  the  ladies  protecting  their  complexions  by  thick  green, 
veils,  Some  read  novels  ;  some  studied  the  map  of  the  river  ;  in 
which  the  chief  thing  that  seemed  interesting,  after  somie  historic 
sites,  were  the  old  seats  of  the  Livingstons,  Van  Rensselaers,  Van 
Brughs,  and  De  Groots.  Overlooking  a  beautiful  sweep  of  the 
river,  from  a  lawn-like  opening  in  an  extensive  park  or  wood 
which  ran  for  miles  along  the  water's  edge,  a  noble,  bluish-gray 
mansion  with  a  tower  and  wings,  attracted  general  attention. 

"  The  De  Groot  Manor  I"  said  Mrs.  Henry  Atherton. 

""What  a  beautiful  situation  I"  exclaimed  Jane.  I  like  it 
best  of  all  we  have  seen." 

"  Your  friend  Mary's  father,  cousin  Alban,"  said  Mrs.  Atherton. 

"  Who  is  your  friend  Mary  ?"  asked  Jane. 

"  The  daughter  of  the  Mr.  De  Groot  who  owns  the  fine 
mansion  you  see,  and  who,  as  well  as  his  daughter,  is  a  gresit 
friend  of  mine,"  said  Alban. 

"  A  young  lady  ?"  inquired  Jane, 

"  When  I  saw  her  last  she  called  herself  sixteen." 

"  Oh  I  a  little  girl  I"   said  Jane. 

"  Her  father  is  not  merely  very  rich,"  continued  Alban,  "  but 
an  elegant  scholar,  a  collector  of  rare  books  and  pictures,  and 
a  man  of  very  peculiar  and  subtle  powers  of  mind." 

"  What  remarkable  friends  you  seem  to  have,"  observed  Jane. 
"  Mr.  Clinton — of  whom  you  were  telling  me  this  morning,  Mr. 
Seixas,  and  this  Mr.  De  Groot.  Is  he  of  some  strange  out-of-the- 
way  religion  too  ?" 

"  He  is  professedly  a  Unitarian,  really,  a  Pantheist." 


492 


AL  B AN . 


"  At  least  you  won't  apologize  for  his  views." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Alban,  smiling.  "  The  Unitarians  have 
their  good  points.  They  recognize  the  importance  of  careful 
moral  culture,  and  reap  the  fruit  in  great  moral  excellence.  No 
Protestants  are  more  famous  for  truth,  justice,  amiability,  and 
active  benevolence.  And  those  whom  I  have  known  pushed  their 
ideas  of  decorum  to  prudery." 

"  Was  your  friend  Mary  a  little  prude  ?"  said  Jane,  smiling. 
*'  I  think  that  is  so  odious  in  such  young  girls." 

"  What  do  you  say,  INIrs.  Henry  ?"  said  Alban,  turning  to 
Mary  Ellsworth.    "  Was  Miss  De  Groot  a  little  prude  or  not  ?" 

*'  I  have  seen  her  box  a  gentleman's  ears  for  a  pretty  slight 
cause,"  cried  St.  Clair,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  Oh  I  was  she  that  sort  I"  cried  Jane,  with  some  disgust. 

"  I  think,"  said  Alban,  "  we  may  say  that  she  had  a  delicacy 
of  conscience  on  those  points  where  your  sex  is  supposed  to  be 
bound  to  a  greater  strictness  than  ours."  And  he  still  appealed 
to  Mrs.  Henry  Atherton. 

"  Mary  was  propriety  itself :  I  never  thought  her  prudish," 
said  I\Irs.  Atherton,  with  a  slight  bride-like  blush. 

"Well,  I  understand  Unitarians,"  said  Jane,  "and  Jews:  but 
how  an  intelligent,  shrewd  man,  as  you  describe  Mr.  Clinton,  Al- 
ban, can  be  a  sincere  Roman  Catholic,  passes  my  comprehension." 

"  The  only  way  to  account  for  it  is  by  the  power  of  divine 
grace,"  said  Alban. 

"  I  hope  we  shan't  get  into  any  religious  discussions,"  hiterposed 
Henry  Atherton,  rather  severely. 

"  Nothing  was  further  from  my  intention,"  said  Alban.  "  Only 
Jane's  remark  made  me  feel  queer." 

Mavy  Ellsworth,  (as  for  convenience  we  shall  still  call  her, 
for  there  was  another  jNIary  Atherton  of  the  party,)  leaned  over 
towards  Jane  and  whispered  to  her  audibly  to  ask  Alban  what  he 
thought  of  the  Church  of  Rome's  prohibition  of  the  marriage  of 
cousins.    Jane  blushed. 

"  Is  it  prohibited  ?" 


ALB AN . 


493 


"  Don't  you  know  that  ?  You  and  Jane  are  within  the  pro- 
hibited decrrees,  cousin  Alban,— are  you  not  ?" 

"  Certainly,  we  are  second  cousins.  AVe  could  not  marry  with- 
out a  dispensation." 

"  You  see,  Jane,  you  will  have  to  get  the  Pope's  leave." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Alban.  "  Every  bishop,  and  I  believe,  every 
parish  priest  in  this  country,  can  dispense  in  that  degree." 

"  Where  do  you  find  in  the  Bible,  Alb,  that  cousins  must  not 
marry  ?"  asked  Henry  Atherton.  *'This  appears  to  me  one  of  those 
traditions  and  commandments  of  men  which  the  Church  of  Rome  is 
famous  for  imposing  on  men's  consciences.  It  was  a  great  instru- 
ment of  her  tyranny  in  those  middle  ages  that  you  so  much  admire, 
as  well  as  a  rich  source  of  emolument  through  the  dispensations 
you  speak  of.  First  she  forbade  what  God's  Word  permitted,  and 
then  she  took  money  to  let  you  do  it." 

"Yes,  Alban,  you  can  explain  everything,"  cried  St.  Clair, 
"  pray  give  us  an  explanation  of  this.  Jane  looks  for  it  anx- 
iously." 

"  Since  you  appeal  to  me,  I  will  answer,"  said  Alban,  quietly. 
"  The  Primitive  Church  forbade  the  marriage  of  cousins  long  before 
you  suppose  the  Papacy  to  have  arisen,  and  the  Greek  Church  forbids 
it  still,  understanding  the  terms  brother  and  sister  in  Scripture  to 
include  cousins.  The  example  of  the  Patriarchs,  which  I  know  you 
will  quote,  proves  nothing,  for  Abraham  married  his  niece — his 
sister,  as  she  is  called  in  the  Bible.  The  Church  is  a  chaste  and 
tender  mother.  It  is  true  that  she  has  drawn  the  bonds  of  con- 
sanguinity closer  than  under  the  old  carnal  dispensation.  Her 
heart  is  more  sensitive  to  the  slightest  claim  of  nature  ;  she  takes 
a  wider  circle  of  kindred  into  the  nearness  of  blood  affection  ;  she 
is  more  jealous  of  that  purity  which  refuses  to  mix  the  two  kinds 
of  love.    Do  you  blame  her  for  it  ?" 

"  Very  fine,  Alb,  but  it  proves  too  much.  If  it  is  a  question 
of  Christian  delicacy,  no  dispensation  ought  ever  to  be  allowed. 
Why  should  the  Church  dispense  with  the  slightest  obhgation  of 
purity  ?"  asked  Henry,  coldly. 

4a 


494 


ALB AN. 


"  "Why,  indeed  I"  exclaimed  Jane,  in  an  indignant  under  tone. 

*'  Still  you  misunderstand  her.  ,  I  am  bound  by  the  law  of 
purity  to  regard  Jane  as  a  sister,  notwithstanding  my  knowledge 
that  the  Church  may  for  good  reasons  remove  the  barrier  between 
us  and  permit  us  to  forget  our  common  blood." 

"  Well,  if  that  is  not  impertinence,  I  don't  know  what  is," 
cried  Mrs.  Henry.    "  If  I  were  you,  Jane,  I  would  remember  it." 

"  Jane  understands  me  better  than  you  do,"  replied  Alban, 
*'  and  I  am  convinced  that  she  is  not  offendiid  because  I  say  that 
no  sister  could  be  dearer  to  me  than  she  is." 

"  I  understand  perfectly,"  said  Jane. 

*'  You  all  talk  of  Jane,"  exclaimed  Mary  Atherton,  Henry's 
sister,  who  was  older  than  her  brother.  "  But  no  one  seems  to 
think  that  my  feelings  are  outraged.  Jane  is  only  a  second  cousin 
after  all,  and  as  Alban  says  so  pointedly  (encouraging  Jane)  '  Any 
priest  may  dispense.'  But  I  am  a  first  cousin.  No  help  for  me 
short  of  the  Pope  I  As  Jane  says" — mimicking  her — "  I  under- 
stand perfectly." 

This  sally  made  every  one  laugh,  and  brought  the  conversation 
back  to  safe  ground.  Alban  promised  that  if  Mary  Atherton 
would  give  him  any  encouragement  he  would  write  to  Rome  for  a 
»  dispensation  at  once. 

"  No,  no  !"  she  replied.  "  I  shall  take  care  how  I  expose  my- 
self to  the  charge  of  wanting  delicacy  towards  my  near  relations. 
Henceforward,  Alban,  I  regard  you  simply  as  a  brother." 

Henry  Atherton  told  Jane  afterwards  that  Alban  was  very 
eccentric.  He  had  been  nearly  or  quite  an  infidel,  then  almost  a 
Jew,  and  now  he  talked  as  if  he  were  going  to  turn  Papist.  They 
all  hoped  he  would  get  over  these  crotchets  as  he  grew  older, 
and  he  (Henry)  hoped  a  great  deal  from  his  affection  for  Jane 
herself 

From  that  time  the  subject  was  avoided,  but  Jane  found  it 
hard  that  wherever  there  was  a  Catholic  church,  however  mean, 
Alban  would  go  to  it  when  they  rested  on  the  Sundays.  This 
happened  first  at  Babylon,  and  she  knew  not  how  to  bear  it  to  sit 


ALB AN, 


495 


by  herself  in  the  square  pew  in  the  old  meeting-house,  where  she 
and  Aiban  in  the  old  times  occupied  opposite  corners,  and  thought 
more  of  each  other  than  of  long  prayer  or  pleasant  hymn,  or  even 
stirring  sermon.  And  to  think  that  he  had  gone  and  strayed  away 
to  that  great  brick  structure  outside  the  village,  where  crowds  of 
common  Germans  in  blouses  or  petticoats  of  blue,  according  to 
their  sex,  and  of  the  low  Irish,  filled  the  whole  space  and  even 
knelt  outside  upon  the  steps  of  the  portico ;  and  she  did  not  care 
at  all  that  the  building  realized  a  wish  of  Aunt  Fanny's,  being 
dedicated  D.  0.  M.  under  the  invocation  of  the  Prhice  of  the 
Apostles. 

Nor  must  we  omit  that  they  had  some  narrow  escapes  on  this 
tour — Jane  and  Alban.  One  was  at  Niagara,  where  they  two 
went  under  the  Fall,  and  Jane  slipped  on  the  stones  amid  the 
spray,  wind-gusts,  and  darkness,  and  the  water-snakes  that  crawled 
up  from  the  boihng  caldron  below.  The  detention  caused  by 
this  saved  their  lives,  for  on  coming  out  again  they  found  that  a 
piece  of  rock  had  fallen  directly  upon  their  path,  strewing  it  with 
fragments,  any  one  of  which  was  sufficient  to  have  killed  them 
both.  Jane  fancied  that  Alban's  "  guardian  angel"  had  pushed 
her  down,  and  Alban  wondered,  if  he  had  been  killed,  what  would 
have  become  of  his  soul.  After  that,  a  boiler  burst  on  the  St. 
Lawrence,  a  minute  after  they  had  passed  it,  and  when  Jane 
had  been  desirous  of  staying  in  its  dangerous  vicinity  to  look  at  the 
machinery,  but  Alban,  who  since  the  Niagara  business  was  ner- 
vous either  for  himself,  or  her,  or  both,  would  not  let  her.  In 
that  case  his  guardian  angel  must  have  inspired  him,  they  both 
agreed  :  for  several  persons  were  scalded  to  death  by  the  acci- 
dent. 

Another  incident  was  their  visiting  the  cathedral  in  Montreal, 
and  Alban's  kneeling  before  the  altar  where  burned  the  solitary 
lamp.  His  friends  thought  it  "  too  absurd,"  "  quite  a  display," 
and  Jane  too  was  ashamed  ;  but  when  Alban  rejoined  her,  he 
looked  so  strangely  calm  and  sweet,  that  she  loved  him  with  all 
her  heart  in  spite  of  his  singularities. 


496 


ALBAN . 


And  so  our  party  sailed  up  Lake  Champlain,  while  the  flying 
mists  now  hid,  now  revealed,  the  wild  mountains  of  Essex.  They 
landed  at  the  picturesque  and  historic  Ti.  Then  their  keel,  steam 
impelled,  cut  swiftly  the  transparent  waters  of  St.  Sacrament, 
blue  as  the  Rhone  at  Ferney — a  sacred  lake. 


THE  END. 


NOTE. 

Those  who  may  feel  curious  to  follow  the  adventures  of  our  hero  after  his 
reunion  with  Jane,  are  referred  to  the  sequel  of  Alban,  which  will  shortly 
appear. 


